Desperate Measures
by Ptrst
Summary: The BoyWhoLived lives no more. Going against the Prophecy and the law, Hermione goes back 54 turns on the Time Turner to change what happened and possibly save the world. IN-PROGRESS
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Somehow, this story has started getting attention again in the past few weeks, and since I have lots of procrastination time to fill up during the course of a day (yay college!) I decided to re-do this. I've saved almost all of the story I had posted, except for the ending (where I could tell it was starting to get bad), but I'm going to go through and edit the story, along with re-organizing the chapters into more respectable lengths. Hopefully this time it will end better than last time; and I look forward to reviews or whatnot as to the changes. And no, I'm not going to do the same thing as was done with Everything I Know; I'll actually finish it, lol. Enjoy!

* * *

"Ms. Granger, you are well aware of the dangers of time travel, so I won't bother telling you all the things that could go wrong with this plan. There is little hope for our future, and you are it. You know what you must do?"

The brunette nodded solemnly. "I must go back in time fifty-four years and change the path of Tom Riddle," she recited precisely; there was no room for eloquence when possibly the fate of the world was at stake. Her mission was risky; there were possible consequences for this that none of them could possibly imagine. One of the most important laws surrounding time travel was that you couldn't interfere with the past. But they were desperate. Because Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, lived no more.

How it had happened, none could say for sure. It looked like it had been an accident, but there was no way of knowing whether it was one of the Death Eaters, the Dursley's, or even just the pressure of having his entire world rest on his shoulders that broke his neck falling down the stairs.

They were on the verge of losing the war against Lord Voldemort, and both sides knew it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, which was why 17-year old Hermione Granger was standing in the Headmasters office with Albus Dumbledore, Time Turner around her neck, wearing the uniform of fifty-some years previous, with a whole new identity that she was ready to assume. She had no idea how she was going to accomplish her mission, or if it was even possible, but she knew she had to succeed anyway. She had to somehow interfere with Tom Marvolo Riddle's path to power and the Dark Side.

It shouldn't have worked, by any means. It should have been impossible. And, if not for Dumbledore's occasional disregard for the law, it would have been. He wasn't supposed to travel through time any more than Hermione was (though, of course, this didn't stop him). And if Ministry officials had, a few years earlier, found out that he had, he would have had to break out of Azkaban (which, though not difficult for him, would have been a rather large waste of time for all parties involved). With his connections to the Transfiguration teacher/Deputy Headmaster who was, in fact, a fifty-year-younger version of himself, they were able to create for Hermione a somewhat safe place for her to exist, and she was spared the necessity of explaining the situation. Those involved, though – Professor Dumbledore (from 1943), Headmaster Dippet, and a few others – didn't know the full extent of the plan; that would have been even more dangerous. All they knew was that, for some reason, a student had to be transferred from 1997 to 1943, and that they were to accept that and make excuses for her if necessary.

She had said her goodbye's that morning, as few as she had to say. It was supposed to be kept basically secret, for the safety of everyone involved. Her parents had been informed, as had Ron and the rest of the Weasleys and the Order of the Phoenix; Draco Malfoy, who had, much to Hermione's dismay, been given the title of Head Boy opposite her Head Girl, had been told that she would be leaving for an undetermined amount of time, and Hannah Abbott was temporarily given the position, until Hermione's return.

Tears were forming at the corners of her eyes, and she was shaking. She was holding one end of her trunk – so it would be transported with her – and in her other hand was a piece of parchment giving her new name, birthdate, and everything else that would be expected of a transfer student starting Hogwarts in their seventh year.

She wiped the tears out of her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself. "I'm ready," she said, even though she most certainly was not; she never would be. Dumbledore nodded, took a step closer to her and grabbed the Time Turner, slightly larger than the one she had in her third year, fastened around her neck. He turned it fifty-five times. Wand in pocket, identity in hand, Hermione was transported back in time more than half a century, where Hermione Granger didn't exist and she, the bookish brunette, became Jane Levvens.

When Dumbledore let go of the Time Turner, Hermione began to spin, quickly, once for every day she traveled. More than 20,000 times she span. After about twelve, she became dizzy and had to close her eyes to stop herself from getting sick. After about five hundred, she became accustomed to the sensation and found that she was simply getting bored. At about a thousand, she became dizzy again. The pattern continued on in much the same fashion, alternating between near-illness and absurd boredom, for 20,000 spins.

When she felt the spinning stop, she opened her eyes for a moment before falling to the floor and closing them again. Feeling extremely sick and disoriented (as the final spin had caught her in the middle of a not-bored state), she stayed on her hands and knees for a few seconds before she heard a voice from above her. Her head was still dancing, however, so it took a moment for her to realize that someone was talking to her. Hermione opened her eyes, glad to see that the spinning was mostly gone, and tried unsuccessfully to get to her feet. Feeling frustrated and embarrassed at her lack of motor control and balance, she got up on to her knees and was about to try again when a hand appeared in front of her. Slightly startled, she took it, and with the help of the stranger, she stood up.

She looked around; she was on Platform 9 ¾, she saw, but it was definitely a different time. Her trunk was on the ground next to her. She blinked a few times to clear her head before looking at the person who had helped her up.

It was a girl; she looked about seventeen. She had longish brown hair, past her shoulders, and looked like she hadn't slept much the night before.

"Er – Thank you," said Hermione, slightly embarrassed, and hoping the girl didn't ask too many questions she was unprepared to answer.

"My name is Elizabeth Derkins. I don't believe I've seen you before," she said.

"I'm Jane Levvens," Hermione introduced herself, making sure to give the proper name to avoid complications. "I'm a transfer. I got special permission to be here for my seventh year, from Headmaster Dippet. He told me I should find the Head Boy or Girl; I have a letter for them," she told Elizabeth; she said it a bit faster than she should have, perhaps, but Elizabeth didn't notice.

"I'm a prefect, so I have to go meet with them. Why don't you come along with me?" Hermione considered herself extremely lucky to have found someone so helpful so soon; she had thought that she was going to have to wander around the train for ages before someone would take pity on the obviously new girl (as she couldn't very well just go up to the Prefect's carriage like she knew where it was).

"That would be excellent," she agreed. Elizabeth and Hermione – with little difficulty – got their trunks on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione followed Elizabeth to the prefect's compartment, dutifully pretending she didn't know where it was.

When the two girls entered the compartment, Elizabeth received a few "Hello"s, and Hermione received a few stares. Elizabeth introduced Hermione (as Jane, of course) to the Head Boy and Girl.

"Tom, Bethany, this is Jane Levvens. She's a seventh year transfer. Jane, this is Tom Riddle, Head Boy, and Bethany White, Head Girl." Trying very hard to seem as if she was nervous because it was a new school and not because the future Dark Lord was standing three feet in front of her, Hermione handed the letter, with a slightly shaking hand, to Tom.

"This is from Headmaster Dippet; he told me I should give this to you." She didn't know what the letter said; Professor Dumbledore, though he had taken care of all the arrangements, wouldn't divulge everything to Hermione; he thought it would be better if she found out at the same time Jane was supposed to.

Tom read. "It says that you've already been sorted into Slytherin." Hermione tried not to gasp, as that would cause much suspicion; Tom looked rather pleased, she saw.

"It also says that we should find a seventh year to show you around the castle," added Bethany. This was no surprise to Hermione; after all, she wasn't supposed to know anything about Hogwarts. Bethany looked up from the paper, turning her sharp brown eyes authoritatively from Hermione to Elizabeth. "Elizabeth, would you mind? After all, you are a prefect, a seventh year, and a Slytherin."

"Of course. I don't mind at all." As if she was going to refuse a request from one of the Heads; she was a prefect, after all.

"Right then. Now that that's settled, we have a prefect meeting to get to, so if you wouldn't mind, Jane?" Bethany nodded her head towards the door.

"I'll find you when we're done," said Elizabeth reassuringly. "Just – find somewhere for us to sit, okay?"

Hermione nodded and walked out of the compartment, glad that she had overcome the first hurdle and that she hadn't fainted or screamed when she met Tom Riddle. She walked around a bit, looking for an empty compartment; after about ten minutes, she found one that only had a few people in it.

"May I sit here?" she asked politely. The girls already sitting inside nodded their heads, and so she sat and waited for Elizabeth to show up and for the plan to continue.

It seemed to Hermione that the prefect's meeting in 1943 took much longer than the one in 1997, but realized that it was probably because she was so anxious to get on with her mission.

While waiting for Elizabeth's return, Hermione tried to get to know the girls in her compartment, so she wouldn't arrive at Hogwarts knowing only 3 people; it would make her feel quite like a first year again, and she hadn't enjoyed the feeling when she was eleven nearly enough to make her want to go through it all again.

There were three girls in her compartment besides herself. They were fifth years, June, Margaret, and Penelope. June was a Gryffindor, and the other two were from Hufflepuff. They seemed nice enough, as far as Jane could tell, but they weren't the kind of connections Hermione would have to make in order to succeed. Still, they were people, and she wanted to know as many students as she could, in case she needed them.

She disliked the way she was thinking; using people, needing connections. It almost made her sick of herself when she realized it. After all, these were real live people (albeit ones quite a bit before her time) she was dealing with. But she knew, when it came down to it, that she wasn't here to make friends or help people or care about anyone (as terrible as it felt); she was here to save the world, and she would sacrifice her humanitarian impulses for the time being if need be.

Hermione knew that she was changing the future with every word she said, but Dumbledore had told her that her purpose was to change the past, so she should disregard most of the rules of time travel; as long as she didn't reveal anything about the future, she should be fine. So she spoke to the girls about anything and everything she could think of, trying to get a feel for the time period without letting on that she didn't know nearly as much as they did.

Soon, however, the conversation turned to gossip about classmates, and all Jane could do was listen – which she did, trying to memorize every minute, pointless fact (anything could become vital knowledge at a moment's notice) – until Elizabeth found her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **At this rate, I'm going to condense sixteen chapters into about five...but I think it works better like that, anyway. Let me know if you see anything that looks silly; I'm kinda tired.

* * *

"You doing alright?" asked Elizabeth upon sitting down across from Hermione.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered. "I've been talking to June, Penelope, and Margaret. They're quite nice."

"Who, these fifth years?" asked Elizabeth dismissively. "They're nobody." The three younger girls looked offended at this comment, but were too afraid of the Slytherin prefect to say anything.

Hermione wanted desperately to say something, to stand up for the girls, but she resisted the urge, knowing that it would put her position as a Slytherin into serious question. Instead, she said nothing, hoping that Elizabeth would interpret her silence as agreement.

Elizabeth gave the fifth years a threatening look, and they quickly got up and left, while Hermione merely looked at them encouragingly, and with slight sympathy, as they exited.

"So, Elizabeth, tell me about Hogwarts. I'm afraid I don't know anything about it, really," she admitted, causing a slightly ashamed look to appear on her face.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was founded more than a thousand years ago," she explained, "by four of the most powerful witches and wizards of the time: Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff." Hermione, of course, already knew that; she had memorized Hogwarts: A History and besides, it was fairly common knowledge. However, as far as Elizabeth was aware she didn't know any of this, so she listened intently. "The four founders each wanted something different in the students they taught. Salazar wanted only the most cunning and ambitious students; Rowena preferred the most intelligent; Godric only wanted those with bravery, and Helga – she wanted loyalty in her students, but she also took anyone who didn't fit into any of the other houses." That was pretty much what the Sorting Hat said every year. "They had their differences, but since each of them had their own House, they got along well enough.

"Then, the other founders ganged up on Salazar. They told him that he couldn't be so open about his pureblooded beliefs, and there were going to be muggleborns at Hogwarts, no matter how many witches and wizards were persecuted by muggles. They forced him out of the school." It was certainly strange for Hermione to hear the tale from a Slytherin's point of view for once; she was used to hearing about how Slytherin got mad and just left, not that the others had forced him out. She wasn't sure which version to believe; as long as she was here, however, she believed exactly what Elizabeth told her. "Since then, students that have been sorted into Slytherin have been generally thought of as being evil, stuck up, and the like. Of course, we tend to act the part, live up to the standards set for us, but we really aren't all that bad.

"That's why I had to kick out those fifth years earlier; I have a reputation to uphold, as a Slytherin." Elizabeth looked at her skeptically. "As do you, I might add. I mean, we can't have someone messing up our image."

Hermione was surprised; she had always assumed that all Slytherins were bad people. She never thought that they acted that way simply because they were expected to. It seemed that, if she returned from the past, she would have something to think about, at least.

Hermione nodded. "Of course. I would hate to be the undoing of a thousand years' work, after all." She tried to make her voice sound natural, with a bit of a laugh at the end, but wasn't sure if she completely succeeded. Elizabeth didn't say anything about it, though, so she assumed she was still in the clear.

"Good, then. You'll soon discover the power associated with being a Slytherin, I'm sure. You've already had your first demonstration; did you see the way those girls just ran out of here earlier?" she laughed. "And I'm not even the most respected. Of course, it may take a little longer for you; you're just coming here. Still, the green and silver has a certain effect on others…" she trailed off, leaving Hermione with no doubt that green and silver effected those who didn't wear it, and that the effect was one she would enjoy thoroughly.

The two Slytherins sat and talked for a while. Elizabeth explained pretty much the entirety of Hogwarts: the classes, the professors, the students, everything that Hermione would need to know to make for a smooth transition. Hermione just listened, and asked questions whenever there was a lull in the conversation; if Elizabeth stopped talking, she might start asking questions, which wouldn't have been good. It seemed to Hermione that Elizabeth, also, had memorized Hogwarts: A History, for she knew almost as much as Hermione did (though, to Hermione's relief and satisfaction, Elizabeth lacked knowledge in a few key subjects – such as Gryffindor Tower).

Finally, Elizabeth announced that they would be arriving any minute, so they changed into their robes – Hermione getting her first taste of the green and silver that, according to Elizabeth, guaranteed her some amount of power and influence. The train stopped and they departed, Hermione following Elizabeth out into the night. Hermione inwardly sighed; she was glad to be home, even if she was fifty-some years early.

For a brief moment, Hermione was afraid that she was going to have to go across the lake with the first years; she realized, after a moment, that she had already been sorted, which was the entire point of going across the lake.

Then, Hermione wondered if her presence was going to be announced by Headmaster Dippet. _Probably not,_ she thought. _That would draw far too much attention to me, and I'm trying to stay as low-profile as I can._

She followed Elizabeth into a carriage that was only slightly less than full, though she noticed that the robes all had the green serpent insignia of Slytherin House. Feeling out of place for more than one reason, Hermione tried to join in the conversation, introducing herself as a transfer from 'Tarnley', a school Professor Dumbledore had invented to avoid certain questions from being asked. Her fellow Slytherins seemed only slightly interested in her, and she was grateful that they chose to ask very few questions.

She was surprised to see that the carriages were not being moved by thestrals, which had been visible to her since she had witnessed the death of so many people. They seemed to move completely on their own; Hermione assumed that they had been charmed to take the students to Hogwarts, because, for some reason, there weren't any trained thestrals on the grounds.

Hermione was thinking about the people she'd left behind and about what she had to do. She had no idea how she was going to change anything more than the memories of a few students and teachers. She was supposed to change history itself, make sure the prophecy need not exist.

She had only known about the prophecy after Harry's death; he had not told anyone about it, except in a letter he wrote the summer after his fifth year, which he had given to Dumbledore with instructions to give it to Ron and Hermione, only to be opened if he died. It was one of the first signs of Harry's newfound state of being; he had become obsessed with death. He planned for his own death, worried about that of his friends, and was determined to bring it about in Lord Voldemort. He hid it well, though, and few noticed. Hermione and Ron had only perceived a slight change, nothing anywhere near as drastic as what had actually happened. She thought about the letter:

_To: Ronald Bilius Weasley & Hermione Jane Granger_

_If you are reading this letter, it means that I've died. Unless Voldemort is dead by now, as well, he will never be defeated. There was a prophecy given before my birth, the record of which was accidentally destroyed in the Department of Mysteries by Neville Longbottom. You know that much. You assumed that the prophecy could never be heard, and I never corrected you._

"_the one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, BORN AS the seventh month dies… and the dark lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the dark lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will be born as the seventh month dies…" _

_That is the prophecy Sybil Trelawney gave to Albus Dumbledore. I heard it for the first time in Headmaster Dumbledore's office shortly after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, and many times after in my mind. It says that I am the only one who can destroy the Dark Lord, that we are the only way the other can die. If I'm dead, it means that he's finally killed me, and that now, he can never be defeated. I'm sorry…_

_Harry James Potter_

She tried not to cry as she thought about Harry. She had to do something to make the prophecy untrue. What she could possibly do was beyond her. For the time being, she had to try to get used to living in the world of 1943 and wait for inspiration to strike.

The carriage stopped, and she didn't notice at first. Her stream of thought was broken by Elizabeth calling her name. It took her a moment to realize that 'Jane' was her new name. She apologized for not paying attention, feigning embarrassment, and explained that she had been caught up in the majesty of Hogwarts. Elizabeth smiled and nodded her head in agreement that Hogwarts was beautiful, and led Hermione up to the castle.

In all, Hermione thought she had been pretty lucky. Everybody believed her story, for one. No one, as far as she could tell, was even remotely suspicious of where she came from. She had even managed to find someone she thought she could call a friend. Granted, she was still 54 years ahead of her time, but there was no way of getting around that.

Her biggest fear at that point was that someone would ask a question she wasn't prepared to answer, because if she messed up, there would be no other chance. It was dangerous enough, Dumbledore had told her, to play with time once; more than one try was too risky, no matter what could be accomplished.

She forced herself to act like a first year upon first entering the castle; she looked around, captivated by the aura of it all, in much the same way she had six years before (and 48 years later). The castle seemed to be almost unchanged from her time. There were a few different portraits hanging on the walls, and the suits of armor looked 50 years younger. Apart from that, she could easily believe that it was the year 1997.

She let Elizabeth lead her to the Great Hall, though she knew exactly where it was. She pretended to listen intently to Elizabeth's commentary on the castle, looking around spellbound and occasionally saying a word or two, until they arrived at the Great Hall. It took more self-control than Hermione thought she had to not sit down at the Gryffindor table. Instead, she allowed Elizabeth to steer her to the Slytherin table.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," she said. "Hogwarts is much larger than Tarnley, I'm sure I would have gotten lost."

"It's alright," replied Elizabeth. "Hogwarts is pretty big – intimidating, even, to someone who's not used to it."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "I suppose I'll get used to it eventually," she said, though she sounded uncertain.

"You will, just watch. I'll make sure of it!" The two girls laughed. Hermione was glad she found a friend. Her first time at Hogwarts, it had taken almost getting killed by a troll; all she had to do this time was fall down. "The feast will start in a while," Elizabeth explained once they had stopped laughing. "The first years have to cross the lake – tradition – and then they get sorted. It's simple enough. Then, the headmaster stands up and announces the beginning of the feast. After everyone's done eating, he'll give a speech – just reminding people of the rules, announcing any new staff appointments, that kind of stuff. Everyone claps, blah blah blah, then we go to bed. Prefects have to lead the first years to the dorms, so just stick with me, alright?"

Hermione nodded; she had never realized how long it took to explain the schedule for the Start-of-Term Feast. She would, at least, have to pay attention when Elizabeth lead her to the Slytherin common room – she had no idea where it was, except that it was somewhere in the dungeons.

She turned to the table to look at her new classmates. She was surprised to see Tom Riddle sitting across from Elizabeth, and even more surprised to see that he was looking at her.

"Hello. I'm Tom – Tom Riddle. I believe I met you earlier, on the train, but I don't believe I properly introduced myself. There was a Prefect's meeting and I was a bit preoccupied. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I was a bit preoccupied, myself. I'm Jane Levvens."

"Welcome to -"

At that point they had to stop talking, because Professor Dumbledore had set a stool in front of a line of nervous-looking first years. He then set a tattered old wizard's hat on top of it, and said, "When I call your name, sit on the stool and put the Sorting Hat on your head. Once you are sorted, go sit with your house.

"Ackleman, Albert," he read, a few seconds before a brown-haired boy walked over to the cheering Ravenclaw table. _There are a lot of first years,_ Hermione thought. "Ackleman, Allison." A similar-looking girl joined him. _A lot of first years._

Though the dizzying trip through time had gotten rid of Hermione's appetite entirely for most of the day, by the time "Zinple, Zachary" joined the Gryffindors her stomach was growling. There was something about sitting at a large, empty table that settled her stomach and made it impossible to focus on the Sorting.

Finally, Headmaster Dippet stood up. "Eat!" he said, and food appeared even while Hermione was thinking that he lacked the particular flair of Dumbledore.

After a few minutes of almost Ron-like eating, Hermione's appetite was sufficiently curbed so that she could resume her usual eating pattern. She looked up from her plate and saw Tom Riddle looking at her again, this time with an amused look on his face.

"As I was saying earlier," he continued, still grinning slightly, "welcome to Slytherin. I saw your grades from your previous school – Tarnley, was it – and I'm sure you'll maintain such high standards.

"Of course, the classes at Hogwarts are quite advanced. If you need help in any subject, don't hesitate to ask." Hermione couldn't believe it; was Tom Riddle _flirting_ with her?

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she answered, containing the laughter that was trying to escape her lips. It was a completely absurd situation, and one that she had honestly never imagined. "But if I need help, I'll be sure to ask." She turned her face back down to her plate and continued eating, though at her usual pace, and didn't look up until the plates cleared. _What have I gotten myself into? _she asked herself. _Flirting with Lord Voldemort? I must be insane…_

"Now that you have all eaten your fill, I have a few announcements. First, first years – and older students – should note that the Forbidden Forest is, still, forbidden. Also, for the first time in five years, there are no new staff appointments." Dippet went on in a rather lackadaisical manner that didn't hold Hermione's attention. She was thinking, and she had a habit of blocking things out when she was concentrating.

She was brought out of her stupor by the sudden movement of a room full of people rising from their seats. "Jane," Elizabeth said in a tone that made Hermione think she had said it several times already.

"Sorry," she apologized, and followed Elizabeth out of the Great Hall and though a maze of dungeons that led to the Slytherin common room.

As she was following Elizabeth, Hermione vaguely thought that she would never be able to find the place again. Exhausted from the events of the day, she collapsed into her bed when Elizabeth showed her where it was, and was asleep within minutes, barely hearing Elizabeth promise to wake her up the next morning and show her back to the Great Hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This chapter is dedicated to **Noon's Phoenix**, whom I inadvertantly frustrated. - This chapter is shorter than the previous two, but I'm working on getting chapter four up as I post this, so worry not! Enjoy!

* * *

Hermione couldn't understand why she was being woken up so early; the sun hadn't even begun to come up yet.

"Come on, Jane, we're going to be late for breakfast!" At the word late, Hermione sprang up. She was never late; it was just something she didn't do.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's already seven o'clock! You should have been awake half an hour ago, at least!"

"But it's still dark –"

"Of course it's still dark in here. We're _underground_, remember?"

Hermione suddenly felt like an idiot. "Okay, I'm awake," she said. "Just let me find my clothes and I'll get dressed."

"Here," said Elizabeth, handing her the full Hogwarts uniform, minus robes. "I've been trying to wake you up for a while."

Hermione groaned. "Thanks a bunch, Elizabeth." She swung her legs out of bed and stood up.

"I'll be waiting in the common room, right out there. Come out when you're dressed." She left, closing the door behind her.

Hermione lost no time in getting dressed. She was usually up by six o'clock, at least, and now she was hopelessly behind schedule. _I suppose I'll have to get used to waking up in the dark. Then again, the light probably had nothing to do with it; I had a 36 hour day yesterday, after all, _she reasoned while pulling on her shoes. She ran a hand down the back of her hair out of habit, trying to smooth out some of the frizz, while she stepped out of the dorm and into the hallway leading to the common room.

"Ready?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yeah," answered Hermione before being lead out of the common room and back into the maze of dungeons. "Elizabeth?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes, Jane?"

"What can you tell me about Tom Riddle?" she inquired, feeling stupid. She wanted to know if he often offered to tutor classmates.

"Tom Riddle? I've gone to school with him since first year, what do you want to know?"

"Er–" She wasn't exactly sure how she could ask what she wanted to know without it seeming like she was infatuated with him. She couldn't think of anything, so she decided to tell the truth. "Well, I've heard that the classes at Hogwarts are very advanced, at least compared to Tarnley, and last night, at the feast, he told me that if I needed any extra help…" She trailed off, leaving Elizabeth to fill in the blanks, which she did with ease.

"He offered to give you any _extra help_ you need?" Hermione nodded. "Well, if you really need extra help with schoolwork, he'd be able to help you. He's Head Boy, remember, and top of our class. But somehow," Elizabeth added, "I think his intentions were less than innocent." _I could've told you that,_ thought Hermione. "You must be very special, Jane," she said. "Tom has _never _flirted with anybody, not in years. Too absorbed in his grades."

She blushed. She wasn't even what most guys would consider pretty, and now she was supposed to believe that, somehow, before even talking to him, she had managed to catch the attention of the Dark Lord-to-be? Yeah, right.

"I think you should stay away from him," Elizabeth said suddenly. "He's a bit… odd."

"So?" Hermione found herself objecting, though she didn't know quite why. "What's wrong with being a bit odd? Not everyone's the same, you know."

"I don't mean 'unusual' odd, I mean – scary odd, sometimes – he's dangerous, Jane."

_If it's that obvious already, what hope is there for the future,_ she thought. "How do you mean?" she asked, wanting to know as much about him as possible. This was her mission, not just curiosity, she told herself.

"I really shouldn't be talking about this, Jane, but you need to know, especially if you plan on seeing him more often." She pulled out her wand and cast a small spell to check the time. "It's going to take a while. Do you want to just skip breakfast and do it now, or wait until later?"

Hermione thought she had eaten enough the previous night, and besides, she really needed to know about Tom. "I'll skip breakfast. I'm not that hungry anyway."

"Okay then. Come on, follow me. There's plenty of room for us to talk down here, but we need to get a bit farther away from the main path…" She lit her wand tip again and walked through a door to the side of the one they had been about to walk through. Hermione followed Elizabeth through several more chambers. _It really is a maze,_ thought Hermione.

When Elizabeth stopped, Hermione looked around in awe. They were in a huge library, as big as the official one of Hogwarts. "We call it the Slytherin Library. Nobody else knows about it. It's usually deserted until a few weeks before OWLs and NEWTs. We can talk in here." Hermione decided that it wasn't going to be deserted as long as she was there; it was quite an impressive sight, and she couldn't bear to leave it alone. Elizabeth sat down in a large, comfortable-looking armchair and gestured for Hermione to do the same.

"There've been rumors circulating Hogwarts about Tom since a few months after we started our first year. They started out with impressive stuff, mostly good – he was powerful, we all knew that. The rumors progressed, though. People started saying he practiced Dark Magic; most students in other houses are convinced we're all Dark Wizards, so it wouldn't have really mattered, except it was coming from Slytherins, too.

"You probably haven't heard about it, but in our fifth year a girl was killed. A third year, Haggard or something, was expelled for it, but…" She looked around nervously, obviously not trusting the privacy of the library as much as she claimed. "I heard that Tom had something to do with it. Something big."

"As I said before, nobody doubts that he's powerful – in a few years, he'll probably be more powerful than half the teachers here. For us, his classmates, I'm not sure if that's a bad thing or a good thing. For his enemies – and yes, he does have enemies, and I have to admit they're brave, though stupid, for allowing it – it's a definite bad. I almost feel sorry for them.

"Which is why you should stay away from him. If something happens between you two and you end up getting on his bad side, I doubt it'll turn out well for you."

Hermione was shocked, both at how well Elizabeth knew Tom and at her concern. "Don't worry about me, Elizabeth. I know Tom Riddle's dangerous." She looked surprised and opened her mouth to speak. "Don't ask me how, but believe me when I say that I know." _I know better than you do,_ she thought, thinking of all the people who had been lost in his quest for power and purity.

"Everyone has their secrets, I suppose," muttered Elizabeth.

"I'm glad to know you understand that."

Elizabeth nodded. "Of course I do."

"That's good to hear," she replied, a smile on her face. "You wouldn't happen to know where my first class is, would you?"

"Of course I know; I'm a prefect, after all. I have access to all the Slytherin schedules." She bent down and rummaged through her bag a bit. "Here goes," she said, pulling out a few pieces of parchment. "Jane Levvens, first class is Potions. Luckily, that's down here." She looked at the other piece of parchment in her hand. "And I have it with you." She handed Hermione her schedule. "You hold on to that. Come on, I'll show you the way."


	4. Chapter 4

Potions passed without incident. The pre-Snape Potion's Master, though not the most agreeable wizard in the world, lacked the malice of Snape; or perhaps it just seemed that way since she was a Slytherin.

After Potions, she had Charms. She was slightly upset when she saw that she had already learned the day's lesson her previous year, but quickly became happy again when the Professor told the class that they would be starting something entirely different the week after; she had never heard of the Rortimphre Charm and was eager to learn something new.

During their break, she and Elizabeth compared schedules on their way to the kitchens; Elizabeth's stomach had growled loudly in Charms, and Hermione wasn't feeling her best either, so Elizabeth decided to drop by briefly, just to curb their hunger until lunch. They saw that they had all their classes together except for Transfiguration, which Hermione had after lunch and Elizabeth had opted not to take. Elizabeth was worried about Hermione, and Hermione pretended to be worried about herself. Hermione enjoyed herself thoroughly.

Hermione walked into her Transfiguration classroom and was vaguely surprised to see that the class was being taught, not by Professor McGonnagal, but by Albus Dumbledore. She remembered that Dumbledore had taught Transfiguration before becoming Headmaster, but she still thought it was strange to see him looking much the same as ever.

The class was the hardest one she'd had all day. They spent the first half of the lesson learning the theory behind the transformation, but it still took Hermione five tries to transform her desk into a pig. Once she accomplished her task (she was the second person to do so, as Tom Riddle had managed it on his first try) she smiled, remembering her first ever Transfiguration lesson where Professor McGonagall had done the exact same magic.

As she was attempting the counter – turning a pig into a desk, which required almost the same skill – a small piece of parchment landed on the pig. Startled, she picked it up and read:

_Miss Levvens, please stay after class. I believe we have matters to discuss that would be unwise to mention in the open._

She was a bit distracted throughout the rest of the lesson – for her, no mean feat - and impatient for it to end. Finally, what seemed like hours later, it did.

Hermione stayed nervously in her seat after the rest of the class was dismissed. She busied herself, pretending to drop her parchment several times before fumbling clumsily with her bag. She had a vague idea of why she had been asked to remain after class, and she didn't want anyone else staying to wait for her and overhearing the conversation; she felt lucky that Elizabeth had decided against taking NEWT level Transfiguration.

As she stumbled with the clasp on her bag for what seemed to be the third time, she heard the door close with a soft click. She looked up and, seeing that Professor Dumbledore had closed the door after everyone else had left, she quickly closed her bag and straightened up, glad that they were finally alone and able to speak freely.

"You wanted to speak with me?" she asked politely, standing up.

"Yes, Miss Gra – er – Miss Levvens." Hermione was slightly surprised that he knew her real name; Headmaster Dumbledore had told her it was important that no one know it. He saw the look on her face and explained. "Don't worry, the past is still safe. I have arranged for a little trip into my past, so I might have a brief discussion with you." Hermione nodded. It was 1997-Dumbledore.

"Am I doing well, Professor?" she asked, anxious to know whether or not her effort was working.

"I'm afraid we won't know that until you return. It's one of the many technicalities of time travel, I'm afraid. Which is why it's important that you do absolutely everything in your power to alter history; I won't be able to tell you whether you've done it or not until fixing it isn't an option. I came to see how you're managing. Not badly, I hope."

"Oh no, Headmaster, sir. I'm managing as well as one could expect, I suppose. I'm afraid I'm not making much progress, though. I can't think of how I could possibly make a difference. Any suggestions?" she asked without much hope.

"Now Miss Granger, you may not know that this is solely your responsibility, but it is. When you promised Mr. Potter that you would make sure everything turned out right, you accepted a Magical Contract, unbeknownst to the both of you. This prevents me from giving you any specific instructions." He smiled mischievously. "A bit of general advice, however, cannot be stopped.

"It could be said that loneliness does strange things to people, whether they realize it or not. One could also surmise that, given slight changes in what they experienced, especially during the most vital years of discovering who they are, people would turn out entirely differently.

"Alas, it's time for me to leave. Let my younger self know if you need me – he can get a hold of me. Good luck, Miss Granger." He turned around without waiting for her response and walked through a door behind his desk. Hermione stood in the now-empty room for almost a minute, thinking about what Dumbledore had said until her bag flashed red, reminding her that she was supposed to be in her next class. She ran out the door and to her Arithmancy classroom, only a few minutes late.

After completing several hours worth of homework, Hermione collapsed onto her bed, exhausted. It had been difficult – near impossible, really – for her to pay attention during her final classes of the day with Dumbledore's halfway cryptic advice running non-stop through her mind. It was obvious that she was expected to help Tom realize that evil wasn't the only path, and that she was supposed to somehow change the rest of the year for him. It was also obvious that Dumbledore believed Tom Riddle to be lonely. So…was she supposed to try to make friends? That wouldn't be easy, with Elizabeth warning against the association (not to mention her own moral qualms over making friends with someone who had, directly or indirectly, caused the death of practically everyone she knew). The moral qualms, she decided, she could get over; anything for the cause, after all. Elizabeth, though, would likely be a bit harder to deal with, as she didn't feel like alienating the only friend she had. At least, she thought, getting Tom's cooperation shouldn't be too hard, if his behaviour the previous night was anything to go by.

Her head was pounding. She didn't want to go to sleep until she had decided on a course of action, but she couldn't even think straight. Too much was happening too quickly, and it hadn't even all quite sunk in yet. She decided, after several long minutes of consideration, to go to sleep and give herself a few days to adjust if need be; after all, she had until June to make up her mind, as opposed as she was to the idea of spending months and months in the past. She tried to clear her mind as best as she could, breathing slowly and counting backwards, until she finally managed to drift off.

"Hello Hermione," said a voice from somewhere in the distance. "It's been a while. Too long, I think."

"Who's there?" she asked, afraid and confused, not seeing anyone.

"Oh, come on. Surely you can't have forgotten me _that_ quickly!" She saw a faint shimmer in the air in front of her. It grew steadily more distinct, and within moments it was visibly the outline of a person. A few seconds later, she knew who it was.

"Harry? Is it really you?" He nodded. "I – I can't believe it! I thought I'd never see you again!"

"I know, Hermione. I wanted to talk to you, but they wouldn't let me. They told me it was 'against the rules'." He laughed; the thought of rules actually stopping him was a fairly new concept to both of them, and obviously one that wasn't about to become more practical.

Hermione wanted to ask him who 'they' were, but realized he wouldn't be able to tell her. "If it's against the rules, how are you –"

"You're breaking the rules, too, Hermione. They decided you needed some help, so they let me have a talk with you – just this once, though. Pretty soon you'll wake up, and that'll be it. So we should try and hurry. Tell me, what do you need?"

"I don't know what to do!" she half-wailed, before regaining her composure slightly. "I'm supposed to stop Tom Riddle from becoming Voldemort, show him that he doesn't _have_ to be evil. But I think it's too late for that! Didn't he set the basilisk on Myrtle in his fifth year? That was two years ago, Harry! I don't think he's killed anybody since – it would be too risky, now that Hagrid was already expelled – but who knows what else he's done? I'm not sure I can make a difference!"

"It's okay, Hermione, calm down. You've already made a difference by simply being here. I can't tell you what it is – you know I can't, Hermione – but I assure you that there's already a change.

"If you were a muggle psychiatrist, what would you say is Tom Riddle's major problem?" he asked. Hermione briefly wondered what on earth Harry thought he was going to accomplish with his bizarre question, then remembered that they had only as long as Elizabeth let her sleep. She thought for another moment about Harry's question.

"I suppose he has serious attachment issues stemming from his early childhood," she answered. She had read anything she could get her hands on over the summer, especially since Harry's death. She had found a few psychology books in her parents' bookshelves. Though far from being an expert, it didn't take a genius to figure out Tom's issues.

"And what do you think would help him get over that?"

"Years of intensive therapy, for one," she laughed.

"Apart from that. Something you have the ability to provide."

Damn it. She hadn't paid much attention to that part of the books, not really buying into psychobabble. She sincerely wished she had. She thought hard for a moment before giving her best guess. "Well…Dumbledore said that he's lonely, and in this setting it's probably because he wants to be. So what, am I supposed to befriend him or something, convince him that he doesn't want to be lonely anymore?" she asked, half-sarcastically. The idea was ludicrous, even if she thought she could pull it off.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but before he had a chance to say anything, Hermione felt herself jolted awake, brought back to reality once again by the sound of Elizabeth's voice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Sorry this update took so long, but I plan on putting up at least one, maybe two more chapters tonight to make up for it. We're now more than halfway through what I had posted already, so pretty soon there should be **brand new material** up for you!

* * *

"Come on, Jane, do you want to be late again?" asked Elizabeth.

"I'm awake, don't worry," she answered. "What time is it, anyway?" she asked, sitting up.

"Six o'clock. I didn't want to chance you not waking up again," she explained, "so I decided to wake you up before I did my hair." Hermione realized why Elizabeth had looked so awake yesterday morning; she must have woken up by 5:30 at least. "Anyway, it's a good thing you got up, because I was about to pour ice cold water onto your head." She gestured slightly with the wand she was holding, and Hermione was suddenly very glad that she had woken up on time.

"Six o'clock, perfect. Listen Elizabeth, would you mind showing me where the nearest bathroom is?" she asked.

Elizabeth laughed. "Right off the common room, naturally. Here, grab your things and I'll show you." Hermione gathered her uniform, hairbrush, and toothbrush, and followed Elizabeth out into the deserted common room. "Nobody else wakes up until 6:30 at the earliest," she explained, "so we have a bit of time." Hermione was glad for that; she had always hated having to share a bathroom with about fifteen girls, forever screeching for their lipstick. Elizabeth waited until Hermione was safely in the shower before stepping inside the bathroom.

_Much better than Parvati and Lavender; they wouldn't step away from the mirror for a second!_

Elizabeth warned Hermione that it was 6:20 before she left the bathroom again, satisfied at last with her neat plait. Hermione struggled to rinse her hair as quickly as she could, wanting to be out of the bathroom by 6:35.

She walked out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and hair pulled back out of her face, at 6:32 exactly, just as the first of the mob was waking up.

"That was easy," she commented. "Last year – at Tarnley, I mean – it took almost an hour just to get into the bathroom."

"Yeah, it's like that here, too. That's why I wake up so horrendously early; I like to be able to actually see myself in the mirror when I'm getting ready."

As they were talking, the girls had been gathering their things: extra pieces of parchment they had left laying out the night before, spare quills, and a book or two. Hermione realized that she must've been incredibly distracted the while she was doing her homework to have left such a mess.

For the first time in several days, Hermione was on her way to eat breakfast. She missed the meal; it had always been one of her favorites.

She was growing accustomed to sitting at the Slytherin table instead of that of the Gryffindors, and the green emblem patched onto her robes no longer felt foreign to her. Somehow – though she'd previously thought it impossible – she felt like she could truly fit in as a Slytherin.

As soon as she sat down, however, her mood took a turn for the worst; she saw, once again, Tom Riddle, sitting directly across from her and looking at her more than he had reason – or right – to. _What is wrong with him? _she asked herself, worried about his undue interest in her. He couldn't know about her, could he? No, it was impossible; but then, why was he apparently so interested in her? There was no other explanation for it – but there _had_ to be. How could he know? And more importantly, if he knew why she was there, then he had to know what he was going to do. And if he knew that, it would be impossible to stop him, no matter what she did.

She forced the thoughts from her head with practiced precision; thoughts like that didn't do any good, and it was likely that they would only discourage her from doing what needed to be done. No matter what, she mustn't despair, or she had an incredibly high chance of proving herself right.

_Anyone can change. Even Lord Vol – Tom Riddle. Even if some people here know him as Voldemort, I can't think of him as that. Because Tom Riddle, no matter what he may have done, is still human. _

She looked back up from her plate. He was still staring at her. "Can I help you with something?" she asked, trying to sound more annoyed than afraid.

"I was just wondering how you're doing - adjusting, I mean."

_Then why didn't you just ask? _she thought. "I'm adjusting fairly well, I suppose." Though, she supposed, it was probably good that he was noticing her; taking any sort of action would be harder if he didn't know who she was.

"That's good to hear. I'd hate to have you be unhappy – it would give a bad impression of Hogwarts, I mean. And my offer still stands. If you need any help, just tell me." He smiled and left the table. She knew the nervousness in his voice was put there on purpose; she didn't know why.

_There really is something wrong with him, _she thought_, but I don't think a hug would do him much good. I've got to find out what Harry meant. I just hope the library hasn't changed much._

Hermione found that she was not disappointed by the Hogwarts library of the past. There weren't quite as many books, of course, but the difference was hardly noticeable. All the books were in perfect condition; it seemed that the current librarian was even more passionate about the books than Madame Pince. She also noticed, on second glance, that the Restricted Section held a great deal many more books.

It took her at least 20 minutes to find the section on psychology. She was glad that she had waited until lunchtime to do her research; she had told Elizabeth – who did a much better job of acting unpleasant, mean, and generally evil than Hermione was completely comfortable with– that she was going to take a quick nap. As long as she was back in the Slytherin common room by the time lunch was over with, she'd be fine.

Hermione looked around at the towering shelves filled with thick, dusty tomes and sighed. She loved the library. It had rarely failed her, and she trusted it. She quickly scanned the shelves, looking for something that might be pertinent. She grabbed several particularly thick volumes, along with one or two thin ones that she had a chance of finishing within the lunch hour.

As discreetly as she could, Hermione slipped the thicker books into her thankfully-large bag, scribbling down their titles in case the librarian wanted documentation. She checked the time and saw that there was still half an hour left in the lunch period. She put another two books in her bag and sat down to skim through the one book she had left out. It would take her at least five minutes to get back to her common room, and she couldn't be late.

She settled into one of the large, comfortable chairs and flipped through the book, eyes searching for a key phrase that would catch her attention.

As she went through this usual ritual – which she had performed so many times it was almost unconscious – her thoughts drifted to her problem. She wasn't sure what to make of Tom's apparent interest in her; she found it quite disconcerting. And she was unsure of whether she should be glad, flattered, or downright scared. After all, even though he might still be human, there was still the fact that, to the best of her knowledge, he had every intention and possibility of becoming the Dark Lord, which was a difficult thing to forget – even though, strictly speaking, it hadn't actually happened yet.

She checked the time again, aware that she had looked through at least half the book without finding anything. She had ten minutes until lunch was over. She got up out of the comfortable chair, wishing she would stay and read all day. She walked reluctantly to the librarian's desk and, seeing no one, left the paper with the book titles and authors. _Just in case,_ she told herself. After all, her life would be more than miserable if she somehow for on the librarian's bad side.

Holding the book she had been reading in one hand, Hermione slipped silently out of the library. She suddenly realized how careful she was being – trying so hard to be unnoticeable that it was bound to draw attention sooner or later. _Really, I mustn't act so paranoid!_ she told herself. She walked through the empty corridors as quickly as she could without actually running, knowing full well that if Elizabeth got to the dormitory before she did, she would have some serious explaining to do. Though she – usually – liked Elizabeth, Hermione was beginning to find her constant presence a bit annoying. It would have been perfectly fine if she had actually needed somebody to show her around – she wished she could have had that kind of help in her first year – but it was decidedly inconvenient for her now that she had to do certain things in secret. And no matter how much time she spent with Elizabeth – too much time, in her opinion – she knew she couldn't fully trust her, couldn't fully trust anyone, because her task was simply too important for anything to be left up to other peoples' judgement.

Hermione found herself slowing down when she reached the dungeons. _Now which way was it? _she asked herself, wishing she'd paid more attention when she had a guide; but her mind had been on other things. She stopped for a moment and cleared her mind, trying to think of which turns she had taken the night before. _Left, straight, right…_ she thought, going over the path in her mind as she carefully began walking. As she became more confident with her path, her steps quickened, and soon she was back to her previous pace.

She was just beginning to regain her confidence and believe that she had made it back before Elizabeth when she stepped out of a tunnel and into the dimly lit common room. When she saw Elizabeth sitting impatiently in a dark green armchair, she gasped silently and felt her face turn red.

"Where were you?" Elizabeth asked crossly.

"I – er –" Hermione stuttered before deciding to just tell the truth. "I was in the library. I passed it on the way down here, and I felt I had to go in – I've always loved libraries. I guess I just – er – lost track of time." Well, sort of the truth, anyway.

"Why didn't you just say so?" Elizabeth asked through laughter, "Instead of trying to sneak in here?"

Hermione didn't know what to say. She hadn't had her 'library habit' laughed at in years. It was an unpleasant feeling, one she had definitely not missed. "Because," she responded, more angry than embarrassed, "most people don't take kindly to my literary endeavors. I was hoping to keep it a secret if I could."

"Jane, everybody's a little odd. But," she added, "if you don't want your… obsession with books to be common knowledge, it's your choice.

"Now let's go. We're going to be late for class."


	6. Chapter 6

Once again, Hermione found herself sitting in a classroom, being taught things she had long-since mastered. It took a lot of self-control to stop herself from pulling out a book and just spend the entire hour reading, but she knew she couldn't. After all, Hogwarts was the most advanced wizarding school of the time; it wouldn't do for her to seem like she already knew the material. So, holding in a sigh, she forced herself to pay attention, taking notes in much the same manner she usually did in History of Magic, just to keep herself awake.

As she was writing, inspiration struck her; she needed to 'help' Tom Riddle. And in order to do that, as much as she wished there was a different way, she had to get close to him. Luckily, he had presented her with such an opportunity, more than once.

Which was why, later that day, she found herself talking to him over the Slytherin table at dinner.

"Tom," she began uncertainly, "does your offer still stand? Of… helping me catch up?" She couldn't believe what she was doing. She had learned almost everything a year ago, at least. But there was no other way of doing it, short of "Avada"-ing him in his sleep, which she knew probably wouldn't work, anyway.

Tom smiled slightly, which he didn't seem to do very often. "I'd be glad to," he said. "How about tonight after dinner?"

_Alone. With Tom Riddle. _She could hardly believe it. She could hardly stop herself from wincing and running away. She was certain it was a mistake, that he was just going to kill her, plain and simple. Or torture her, force her to tell him about the future, what was going on with him. How he did it. How he was supposed to do it. Oh god.

"Perfect. I'll meet you in the common room."

_What have I gotten myself into?_ She asked herself, trying to think of a subject Tom could possibly help her with, in case the entire situation wasn't simply an excuse to inflict pain and extort information.

The too-big armchair did nothing to soothe Hermione's nervousness, and she, sitting on its edge, could do nothing but inch further away from it's overwhelming cushions. She sincerely hoped that Tom would hurry up, because she was quickly losing her nerve. Already, she was restraining herself from rushing off to her dorm and hiding under a blanket until she could go back to her time, where everything made sense, where she wasn't forced to consort with Dark wizards in order to, hopefully, save the world.

She heard a door click shut, but the sound was so soft she didn't pay attention to it. In fact, she didn't even realize that she was no longer alone until Tom spoke. "Hello," he said, greeting her. Startled, Hermione almost jumped, but managed to catch herself in time; she didn't want to seem needlessly on edge.

"Hello," she responded, calming herself. "Thank you for agreeing to tutor me."

"No problem," he answered casually, as if he did it on a regular basis. Though she had no doubt that he probably could have tutored most of the teachers at this point, Hermione doubted that he took time out of what had to be a very engaging quest for power very often.

"At Tarnley, we were learning about Dementors and patronuses at the end of last year, and I'm afraid I didn't do too well. There's just something about the charm that I can't manage – and I hate to not be able to do something. So I was wondering if you could help me figure it out; tell me what I'm doing wrong." She looked at him hopefully. She knew he didn't want to do it – of course, Defense Against the Dark Arts had to be his least favorite class – but he couldn't very well say, "No, sorry, I'm learning to be an evil overlord, and teaching people how to resist me is against my moral code." Besides he had already offered, after all. Hermione would have appreciated the irony if she hadn't been so worried.

"Of course. First, you must be sure that you know how to properly say the incantation. 'Expecto Patronum.' Say it."

"Ex – expecto patronum," she said, making sure she stuttered it a little.

"Good. Now, close your eyes." The only thing Hermione wanted to do less than close her eyes whilst alone with Tom Riddle was draw unneeded attention and questions by refusing. She asked for help, and now she had to let him think he was giving it; the only way to do that would be to follow his instructions, no matter how foolish and unsafe they seemed. "Think of the happiest moment in your life. The happiest thing you can think of – focus on that moment. Forget about everything except that moment…" His voice was barely more than a whisper now, and more soothing than it had a right to be. He paused, waiting for Hermione to complete her visualization. She saw it in her mind's eye. Harry, swallowing the potion, the one she had chosen, and walking safely through the fire. She had been so proud of herself. Only twelve, breaking Professor Snape's riddle and allowing Harry to move on, to save the world for what would be the second of many, many occasions. "Okay," he said in the same quiet, calming voice, "say the incantation."

"Expecto patronum!" she said in a loud voice that sounded like a scream in contrast to Tom's tone. She opened her eyes in time to see a silvery otter come out of her wand, and she was upset that she hadn't remembered to be bad at it. Still, she couldn't help but be proud; the patronus looked almost solid, not like the obviously insubstantial one she managed to produce in her fifth year. It looked like she could pet it– without realizing it, she reached out to touch the otter, and it disappeared. "It looked so real," she whispered in awe.

"That was one of the best patronuses I've ever seen," said Tom, slightly skeptical. "Are you sure you've never done that before?"

Hermione blushed. "Never that well. It's normally just a blurry, faint light. It's never taken on a corporeal shape before. Thank you." Hermione hadn't thought it possible for thanking someone to be so difficult. It felt unnatural, and the words tasted strange. She didn't realize until then exactly how close she was standing to Tom. Close enough to touch.

She almost reached out for him, suddenly craving human contact. But before the motor impulses reached her arm, she remembered who he was, and knew that he had probably manipulated this entire situation. She could be under an enchantment right now, and wouldn't know it. Of course, her mind skipped over the fact that, if she were enchanted, she wouldn't have thought of it and wouldn't have been able to resist, and went straight to the anger and, though she masked it as best as she could, fear.

"Will you move?" she snapped angrily. He smirked, a more condescending smirk than Malfoy had ever pulled off. "I don't like people standing that close to me," she said, fighting the urge to push him away. She had almost been able to convince herself that Tom Riddle was not Lord Voldemort, that he hadn't done all the terrible things she hated him for yet. She almost saw him as a person. But she found that suddenly she hated him anyway. Not for what he had done – he hadn't done it yet, after all, and if she did what she was supposed to, he never would. No, she hated him for a far more petty, though no less effective, reason – she hated him for that smirk. The one that she thought she would never have to see, not now that she was decades before Draco Malfoy was thought of. It amazed her how that one look, that one expression could fill her with so much anger. Without realizing who it was, overtaken by the sudden rage she was feeling at seeing that goddamn smirk again, now, when she thought she was safe from it by a margin of fifty years, she shoved him, just as she would have Malfoy if he had been standing that close and her mood had been that bad.

In an instant, he had his wand out, an ugly sneer on his face. Hermione instantly regretted her unconscious action, but knew she couldn't take it back; she obviously couldn't explain that she thought he was someone else, someone not even born yet. She drew her wand in response, knowing that he was more powerful than she but hoping he wouldn't attack. "Stupefy!" he shouted, but before the word was completely out of his mouth, Hermione performed a shield charm, vaguely wondering why he was using such basic magic. She knew, though, that she couldn't stop to think about it, so she sent a stunner of her own back towards him, which he dodged with surprising agility. They opened their mouths again to continue the impromptu duel, but the spells fell flat, unfinished, when the door to the common room opened.

"Professor Rosier," Tom said nervously. "What brings you down to the dungeons?" He was doing a bad job of acting innocent, and Hermione knew that it was on purpose. From what she had heard – and witnessed – he was able to charm whomever he chose; he couldn't have gotten this far being so bad an actor.

"Mr. Riddle, of all the students at Hogwarts, I least expected _you,_ as Head Boy, to be _dueling_ in the common room! And with a new student, as well!" He turned to Hermione, who suddenly became extremely nervous. "And you! I would expect that you would keep to the rules for a week, at least, before dueling with someone! Twenty points from Slytherin for your inappropriate and immature behavior, and detention for you both tomorrow night!"

Hermione was shocked; had she really been dueling with Tom Riddle, the future Dark Lord? He could have killed her! Yet he hadn't – in fact, he had only tried to stun her. Something was wrong, but she didn't have time to dwell on it at present. "Yes, Professor. I'm sorry," she said in a sincere voice.

"As you should be! Now get to bed, both of you, before I make it thirty points!" He waited a moment for them to start off towards their separate dorms before turning around and leaving the Slytherin common room. Hermione heard the door close and felt Tom Riddle's gaze upon her once more, but she kept her eyes firmly focused on the door to her own dormitory, pretending she didn't notice.

I can't believe it. Not even a week into the term, and I have detention!


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** The infamous detention scene at last! I think I like it better this way...no, there weren't any real big changes made, just a sentence here and there as always. Thank you very much, all of my patient readers; I'll start work on chapter seven right after posting this, and it may be up tonight (depending on how it goes). I apologize for the delays, I recently bought The Sims 2, and one of my friends got Guitar Hero, so...my soul is being eaten daily. :) Enjoy!

* * *

They were kneeling on opposite sides of the room, occasionally looking up from their work to shoot angry glares at each other. The steely glares perfectly expressed that neither of them thought they belonged there, and that they would rather be doing almost anything rather than spend the night locked in a room with the other.

The glares said everything that they were thinking; neither of them spoke a word. The silence in the room was so thick, so tense, as to be almost tangible, and neither would admit to feeling, or being bothered by, the atmosphere. The silence remained.

Hermione felt his gaze as a tingle on the back of her neck and tried to ignore it, as she usually did. After a while, though, the sensation still had not lifted, and she knew he was still staring. Eventually she looked back up at him, meeting his cold gaze with one matching in intensity, hoping to stare him down so they could get back to their detention and leave sometime this century. She found, however, that he was just as stubborn and determined as she, and neither of them would look away for even a moment.

It was a silent battle of wills between the two; their work had been forgotten in their determination to prove themselves the stronger. If they had been cleaning instead of fighting, they would have heard footsteps coming down the corridor. But they were too wrapped up in their power struggle to notice anything except each other.

So when the door swung open and Professor Rosier walked in, they both jumped in surprise. "Still not finished, I see," he said in a stern voice. "You _are_ aware of the fact that you've been here for more than two hours, aren't you?" They nodded, looking vaguely apologetic but still not talking. "Then I'm sure you understand why I must give you each another night's detention. Next Thursday, the second floor prefect's bathroom. I would suggest that you work a little faster next time.

"You may return to your dormitories when you are done here. Which I expect will be soon," he said pointedly before leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

The room remained silent until his footsteps eventually trailed down the hall and completely out of earshot.

"You incompetent fool!" shouted Hermione at the tope of her voice, moments after casting a silencing charm on the room. "You got me another detention! With you! I hope you're happy!"

"I did no such thing! If you hadn't spent the entire time staring at me, we would have been done hours ago." He paused. "In fact, I bet you got us detention on purpose," he accused, rising to his feet haughtily and looking exceptionally pleased with himself.

She sprung to her feet in reply, too irritated with the situation – not to mention life in general – to mimic his calm action. "You are nothing more than a self-centered, arrogant jerk!" she shouted, "And I would rather spend a week locked in the astronomy tower in the dead of winter than endure one more night in your unpleasurable company!"

"So you've heard the stories, of course. Elizabeth it must've been, that nosy girl. Yes, I'm sure that's exactly what you want everyone to think: that you can't stand me, that you think I'm some kind of pathetic demon or something!" He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and took several steps towards her. "But what do you _really_ think about me? How do you _really_ feel, not how should you feel? It's just you and me now. No witnesses, no interfering 'friends' trying to protect you, threatening to outcast you. Tell me the truth."

She was surprised by the seriousness of his voice. It sounded concerned, not mocking. "I don't know," she said as she realized it. As much as it worried her that she could not honestly say that she hated him, it worried her more that she couldn't bring herself to lie right now. He was Lord Voldemort, for God's sake! The bloody Dark Lord! She was supposed to hate him, supposed to stop him from killing countless people. But then, he was supposed to be a repulsive creature, not a real person she could take to, yell at, _know_. He had always been a hideous demon in her mind, a faceless monster, the embodiment of pure, unadulterated evil.

She wanted so much to scream at him again, but couldn't find a reason other than that he didn't make her want to scream. Instead she got back onto the floor and started scrubbing furiously, determined to get out of the room as soon as she could.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned about her sudden drop to the ground. It looked like she had collapsed.

"Just – don't talk to me, alright? Let's just get to work on this stupid bathroom – we'll be finished within an hour – and we can go to our rooms and forget all about this, okay?" she suggested, hoping he would agree. She couldn't talk about this now; she needed a chance to get her head sorted out, to remember what she was there for, to be able to lie to him again, to hate him again, or something bad was going to happen.

"I don't _want_ to forget about it!" he said, raising his voice slightly. "I _want _to talk about it!" She stayed silent, still scrubbing the floor and pretending he wasn't there. "Why won't you talk to me?" he asked. "Why won't you _look_ at me?" She recognized somewhere in her mind that she was actually managing to frustrate the Dark Lord, just by ignoring him; but she couldn't think about that. She needed to think about cleaning the bathroom.

"I told you already! I just don't want to talk about it!" She was confused, and she was alarmed; she couldn't talk about this right now, couldn't even think about it. She couldn't admit that there was anything she was avoiding talking about, or she would go mad and ruin everything. Damn it all, why wouldn't this floor shine?

"Not talking about it isn't going to make it go away," he warned. "You'll just keep thinking about it."

"But there's nothing _to_ think about! We're just two people, that's it! There's nothing more to it than that!"

"Honestly, Jane. If there wasn't anything to it, you wouldn't be so worked up about it.

"Why won't you tell me how you really feel? Why can't you admit you have feelings for me – other than anger and repulsion like you pretend? I know how you look at me; I can feel it, Jane."

She answered without much thought. "Because I'm afraid, Tom." He didn't seem to understand. "I'm afraid of what you would do to me. I'm afraid of getting hurt." She was surprised at her ability to admit to that, and that she hadn't completely broken down yet. She felt tears beginning to form behind her eyes, and she held them back, willing herself to keep control. "I've been hurt by too many people – people I cared about, who cared about me. I don't want to get hurt again, Tom. I don't want you to hurt me." _And if I do my job correctly, you won't ever have a chance._ She praised herself mentally for keeping that thought in her head.

"I wouldn't –"

"You say that, but we both know it's not a guarantee." She sighed. Honesty, especially partial honesty, where she couldn't explain anything but had to say it all, was tiring. "Look, I answered your question. Now can we just drop it and get to work? I don't fancy staying here all night. We have classes tomorrow, remember?"

She could tell that he didn't want to drop the subject, but he realized he had already pushed his luck. He got to his knees and started scrubbing.

When they walked out of the bathroom a little over an hour later, sore from being on the ground for so long, the floor and fixtures inside were almost blindingly white. Hermione looked quite upset and tired. Tom, however, looked quite pleased.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter! **Sakuya-kaleido** - No, I am not the author of _Everything I know_; that would be onecrimsontie, and in the future if you have any questions, please log in so I don't have to put it in an author's note.

* * *

Hermione didn't remember going to bed, but she supposed she must have made it, since she woke up in her dorm. She had expected to stay up for hours, contemplating the meaning of what she had said to Tom, but luckily her fatigue had won out.

Once again, she and Elizabeth were awake before almost everyone else in the Slytherin dorms, and were in the Great Hall before most people, too. Hermione was glad that Tom Riddle had slept in – or had she and Elizabeth woken up earlier than usual? She wasn't yet awake enough to know, but she was glad that she wouldn't have to deal with him, at least for a while.

Keeping this thought in mind, she began to eat - she wasn't sure whether she would have an appetite once she had to face Tom again. She had more than touched upon the truth last night, and that scared her. Scarier than that she had been convinced to talk to him honestly, though, was what the honesty meant: she no longer thought of him as being evil. He had somehow managed to humanize himself in her mind, and she didn't like that. If she couldn't see him as being The Bad Guy, how could she _possibly_ keep her task in mind?

Then again, she realized, it might be better that way. Without the constant nagging in the back of her mind that he was the future Lord Voldemort, the primary cause of all of her problems for at least the past year, she'd be able to get closer to him, and she had already decided that the only way she could possibly succeed was if she could somehow managed to get close to him.

Of course, she was going to have to make sure she didn't ever forget why she was here; that would be disasterous, even if it weren't for the threat of the Dark Lord in her time.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Tom Riddle, himself – hadn't she seen enough of him already over the past five days? But she had barely started her mental preparations, readying herself for his constantly stressful presence, when he did the most surprising thing Hermione could think of: he sat down on the other end of the table. She fought to keep the shock from showing on her face. It was difficult. After all, he had actively sought her out at every meal since the start of term. And she had felt certain that - after what had passed between them the night before - he would want nothing more than to taunt her, to provoke her into saying something which might betray her further. But, apparently, she was wrong, for there he was at the opposite side of the table, as far away from her as he could sit while staying with their house, not sparing a glance in her direction.

It was, she found, unnerving. She had thought that she would be happy to be free from his constant presence, but her curiosity was driving her crazy. _Damn that Riddle,_ she thought, angrily taking a bite of whatever was on her fork. _I won't be able to enjoy my breakfast now._ And, indeed, she barely tasted anything, though she had previously been certain that her food was delicious. A part of her wanted nothing more than to go up to him and ask him exactly what his problem was, but she knew that would just be silly. So she sat where she was and forced herself to keep eating, refusing to even look in his general direction.

She knew that she was being incredibly foolish; she couldn't get close to Tom if she wouldn't speak to him. She knew that the smart, responsible decision would be to walk over to where he was sitting and talk to him; tell him that she hadn't been lying, or trying to mess with his head last night, that she had meant what she said about not hating him. But she was a proud girl, and just this once she tired of being responsible; she was going to sulk and act like the moody teenager she had every right to be. Her pride wouldn't allow her to make such a concession as to initiate conversation with him – especially today – and she was going to finally let her pride win over her reason. It felt good.

Hermione looked down at her plate and was surprised to see that it was empty – the Great Hall was still mostly deserted. Sighing, she piled more food onto her plate, knowing full well that she would eat all of it without tasting a bite. It was going to be a _very_ long day.

By halfway through the morning, Hermione was convinced that she had been correct; this was sure to be the longest day in existence. She tried to pay attention in her classes, but the behaviour of Tom Riddle was too unexpected. She found herself dividing her attention, trying desperately to listen to her professors while dissecting the entire encounter last night, wanting very much to figure out why his behaviour had changed so suddenly. He had won, after all; he had gotten her to admit what he wanted, very much against her will, and she could see no reason why he wouldn't be gloating about it. Staying away from her seemed the most counterintuitive reaction she could think of. When she remembered who he was, she hated herself for obsessing; but then she rationalized that it was for the good of the mission, to figure out what was going on. She silenced the voice that tried to protest that the mission was not what she was most worried about, and continued to think.

The pattern continued throughout the morning; she found herself getting constantly frustrated with the strain of trying to make her brain do something it was obviously opposed to. She wished that classes were over, so she wouldn't have to try to pay attention, and found that she was consistently the first one out of class.

She sat down at lunch, somehow exhausted, in a seat at on one end of the table, not seeing Elizabeth but glad to not have to make conversation. As at breakfast, she didn't pay much attention to what she was putting on her plate – her mind was whirring and, to tell the truth, she didn't really care what she was eating. She just sat in silence habitually putting food in her mouth and chewing on it. Not tasting, just… chewing. She didn't notice the faces she was making as she thought. The, 'what on earth is he thinking face,' surfaced a few times, along with the, 'who the hell does he think he is?' face. In the end she began to dismiss the whole thing putting on her, 'I couldn't be bothered anymore,' face and nodded to herself. She was so lost in thought that it took her a moment to realize someone was talking to her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, having missed what the young man had said – she usually had an impeccable memory, but her mind had been elsewhere for the past week, and though she knew she had at least one class with him, she couldn't begin to think of his name.

The nameless boy then answered her question. "I said, my name is Charles Black. We have Potions together, I think, and Arithmancy." He then moved a seat closer so that he was sitting next to her.

Trying to not let the surname 'Black' faze her, Hermione searched her memory and thought she remembered seeing him. "Yes, I remember. I'm Jane Levvens – I just transferred here."

"I know," he said. "Tarnley, right?" Hermione was surprised – how on earth did he know, when she'd just met him? "I overheard you talking to Elizabeth on the train."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, alright," she responded wondering how he overheard her when, as far as she could remember, she and Elizabeth had been alone. She turned back to her food. The plate was half empty. She didn't even remember eating it. She frowned.

"So, how do you like it here at Hogwarts?" he asked – Hermione thought that she was getting rather tired of the question.

She mentally rolled her eyes as she conjured up her – now memorized – response. "I rather like it here, actually. It's much bigger than Tarnley, of course, and the classes are quite difficult – some of the most advanced in the world, I've heard – but it's nice."

He nodded. "Yes, I quite agree. I have to admit, after spending so much time here, it's rather like home. I'm sure I'll miss it when the year is over – but don't go spreading that around now, or you'll ruin my reputation," he added; his voice told her that it was a joke, but something in his eyes suggested that there was a hint of seriousness to it.

She laughed a little, a quiet chuckle that was not quite her own. "Of course," she said and was surprised to find a hint of sarcasm behind it. _Damn him,_ she thought to herself as Tom ran across her mind yet again.

There was a lull in the conversation while they took a break from talking and ate some of their food, during which Hermione, without meaning to, looked up and stole a glimpse at Tom Riddle. She had managed, up to now, to push him from her mind for the few minutes she spoke to Charles and, seeing as he had been indifferent to her the _entire_ day, it wasn't hard to figure out why she was infinitely surprised to see that he was looking back at her.

The infinite surprise then rose when she found the expression on his face was… angry? No, it wasn't quite anger, though he definitely wasn't pleased. It reminded her of Ron in fourth year, when she told him she already had a date to the Yule Ball. She laughed at herself; the future Dark Lord couldn't remind her of Ronald Weasley. She was just being nostalgic.

Finding that she had been lingering too much on the ultimate specimen of complexity, she gave up in trying to decipher exactly what his problem was. After giving him what she meant to be a quick, dismissive look, Hermione turned back to her plate, taking a bite and smiling at Charles.

"What was that about?" he asked after a moment, having seen her nonverbal communication with Tom.

She gave another short laugh, one that belonged to Jane and not herself. "Nothing at all," she replied.

For the rest of lunch, the two of them talked, Hermione finding Charles to be a very interesting person and a good conversationalist. When the bell sounded and it was time to return to their classes, they walked together to Arithmancy – and not once did Hermione think about Tom Riddle, though if she had been paying attention, she would have been hard-pressed to not see the furious look in his eyes betraying his usual calm demeanor.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** This is the last of what I had originally written that I will be reposting...so from now on, updates may be a bit farther between (though I'll still try to make them at least semi-regular). I haven't gotten any reviews on the last chapter, which is sad, but I hope that you're still reading; after all, the best (hopefully) is yet to come!

* * *

Hermione had an amazing time in Arithmancy, though she had no way of knowing whether Charles was really as ambitious and hardworking as he seemed. And she had to admit that he certainly didn't lack charm – or maybe it was just overall people skills. He had a rather unique knack for maintaining excellent eye contact with those sparkling blue eyes of his – so excellent, in fact, that she more than once had to ask him to repeat what he had said, as she found herself almost literally getting lost in his eyes, something she didn't actually believe happened in real life; she blamed it on stress.

Meanwhile Tom Riddle, who was watching her very closely, was a lot more suspicious – he promised himself to have a nice 'chat' with his old acquaintance Charles before long. He didn't like the way she kept smiling and laughing, especially during class – it just wasn't right! After all, school was about preparing you for the future, practicing for the real world. Not smiling and laughing and – good Lord – having fun! It was bad enough if he decided to ruin his own education, but interfering with somebody else – that Jane girl, mysterious and confusing as she may be, she definitely had the right ideas about school. Grades like hers, almost managing to match his own, didn't lie.

Hermione found herself not sparing the invisibly upset Tom Riddle a single thought through her conversations with Charles. They spoke mostly before class, occasionally a few words within, and she found him to be quite…interesting. Not dramatic, not confusing, and far from annoying, but interesting all the same in a way that didn't make her want to pull out all of her hair and start crying, much to her delight. Better yet, if he had plans for world domination and mass genocide, Hermione didn't know about them, and he certainly wasn't being obvious about it. Instead, he talked about their classes. Mostly. She was unpleasantly surprised to find out, however, that his favorite class was one she couldn't stand.

"However," he had explained upon learning of her repulsion for Divination, "the professor can really make a difference. I've heard countless stories about people who write the divining arts off entirely because the only Seer they've met was mildly talented and overly dramatic. But really, it's an amazing subject – if it's handled properly of course."

Hermione, straying from the effect of his eyes somewhat, was surprised at his description of a bad Divination professor – it seemed he had met Professor Trelawny at some point! She was stunned for a moment as she reminded herself that in all likelihood, the Seer hadn't been born yet, and walked into the classroom.

So he made her think, as well. Maybe he didn't convince her that Divination – or, as he called it, the divining arts – was the most worthwhile branch of magic discovered as of yet, but he made her consider that maybe, just maybe, there was something to it after all, which was a feat unto itself. She even got to thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, she may try it again with some effort this time.

Tom, of course, considered Divination fairly worthless and a load of idle guesswork, since he wasn't very good at it. He detested the subject, as a matter of fact, and thought that it ought to be banned from Hogwarts entirely. Watching the two of them, he was becoming increasingly angrier with Charles for ruining this girl. Charles should have learned after what had happened the last time he had interfered in Riddle's affairs… No matter, it would be taken care of soon enough, but the damage to Jane might be irreversible by then…

As Hermione and Charles sat in Potions that day, chattering indecently through the professor's instruction, Tom developed an odd glint in his eye as he decided what to do next.

Hermione was not altogether surprised when Charles sat by her at dinner that night – after all, they had gotten on quite well together. But when the curious Tom Riddle sat on her other side, she told herself that she should have expected it. After all, she had gone almost 24 hours without being graced by his presence – a new record, it seemed.

She was, however, surprised when Tom started a conversation with Charles, of all people. She had been expecting some snide comments about what had happened in the previous night's detention – she had mentally braced herself when he turned towards her.

"Black," he said in a pleasant tone, "I take it you've met Miss Levvens? She's a transfer student, you know, from Tarnley – the first transfer we've had in decades, actually. From what I've seen, she's quite the scholar – she might manage to graduate with the second highest scores in our year!"

Upon hearing this, Elizabeth – who held a grudge against Bethany White and had thus forced herself to surpass all the Ravenclaws for 3 years in a row, and who had held a firm grip on 2nd in her year for just as long – turned from across the table and several seats over to shoot Hermione and Tom a pair of disbelieving looks, and malevolently hushed the people around her, suddenly very interested in their conversation.

Hermione was amazed – what did he think he was doing? "In fact," he continued, his voice becoming slightly less cheerful, "I would consider it a personal letdown if she didn't graduate with honors. Wouldn't you, Black?"

The expression on Charles Black's face was casual, but there was something behind it that Hermione couldn't quite identify. "Yes, of course Tom. It would be horrible."

The meal was a silent one between the three of them.

Throughout the Great Hall there was chattering, exclamations on mistakes in classes, mutterings about disagreements, giggling and laughing. The Gryffindors were going on about somebody or another changing the portrait to their dorm so now they couldn't get in, The Ravenclaws were discussing new techniques on making even better flash cards for their exams, while the Hufflepuffs were idly going on about just how large the sky in the great Hall looked that night. Nobody noticed the Slytherin table, mainly because nobody could hear it. Judging from the lack of noise, they might as well have not been there at all.

Nobody was talking. To Hermione it felt like the meal would never end. The people sitting around Elizabeth were still silent, afraid of invoking her wrath, and Elizabeth herself was put in a bad mood by Tom's statements. Hermione was tempted to start a conversation, just to relieve the very awkward, uncomfortable silence, but she certainly didn't want to talk to Tom, and Charles was obviously disturbed by Tom's implied threat; she didn't want to give Tom a reason to act on it, and she was certain that he would stick to his word.

She was outraged. Tom Riddle, for some unimaginable reason, refused to leave her alone. The only time she'd managed to forget about him, not have his presence constantly surrounding her, reminding her of how miserable she was supposed to be, he refused to allow her even the one thing that helped her forget about him. He could bother her all he wanted; he could pester her with terrible questions that shook her entire self-concept; he could act snide and condescending while never forgetting to be the completely composed character he always presented. She would not stand for him interfering in her relations with others.

She spent the rest of dinner trying to decide upon the best course of action for rectifying the situation. She played through several scenarios in her mind, trying to figure out what would work best, but realized that she couldn't count on her interpretation of Tom Riddle to hold true in real life; every time she thought that she understood him on any level, any time she thought that she knew what he was going to do next, he proved her wrong.

So she decided upon the most sensible course of action she could think of: to wing it, completely, that night after dinner. She ate with a renewed fervor, ignoring the very obvious silence coming from her table.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** This chapter is shorter, I know, but remember, I wrote it all from scratch this time! Also, please let me know if you spot any mistakes or typos or whatnot, as I've also written all of this tonight, in the last hour or so. I hope you enjoy this; it's in a completely different direction than last time, and I personally prefer it.

* * *

Hermione cornered Tom Riddle in the common room, waiting around until everyone else had left; she didn't want an audience for this. She made no attempt to approach him casually, as her intentions would likely be just as obvious no matter how she tried to present herself. As soon as the room was clear but for the two of them, she walked up to where he was studying, hands on her hips in the most obviously aggressive manner she knew. "What was that at dinner?" she asked, with no prelude. He looked up, seeming surprised though she was certain that he had known the instant she had started walking.

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. That thing with Charles. What do you think you're doing?"

"I was having a conversation, thank you very much."

"You threatened him. I know you did."

"I did no such thing. I simply informed him that I approve of your schoolwork; how is that a threat?"

She sighed. "Just stay out of my affairs in the future," she said at last. She stood next to him for a moment longer before, sensing no response, she walked away.

"I don't think you should be associating with him," he said suddenly, when she had almost reached the door to her dormitory. She turned around.

"Since when does it matter who you think I should be associating with?"

"I know these people better than you do, Jane. You don't even know who he is."

"I know enough to prefer his company to yours," she said almost rebelliously. Hearing the tone of her voice, she reminded herself that she had no long-standing grudge against the Tom Riddle of this time, and that he had no power over her that she was to rebel against. She softened her tone to one of curiosity when she asked, "Why shouldn't I be associating with Charles?"

"He's not good for you," he stated simply.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that he's not good for you. I saw you today in classes; you were hardly paying attention at all, thanks to him. You're too intelligent to be risking your grades on someone like that."

"You cannot tell me that you are seriously concerned for the future of my marks."

"I said it at dinner, Jane. You have a serious chance of earning second highest marks in our year. And I'd like to see that happen."

She saw her opportunity. She didn't want to take it, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and wake up fifty years later, but she didn't know when else the opportunity would present itself, when would be the next time they were coexisting peacefully in a room, not shouting or threatening or arguing or ignoring each other. He seemed almost genuine, though she knew she would never be able to tell when he wasn't. She took the chance. She had no choice.

"Then does your offer still stand?" she asked impulsively.

He smiled. A rare smile, not sarcastic or mocking or cruel. "Can you keep your temper this time?"

She blushed slightly, a reaction she wasn't expecting. "I apologize," she forced herself to say. "I'm afraid I wasn't feeling quite myself."

"Then yes, my offer still stands."

"Thank you." Again, the words felt wrong in her mouth. She didn't want to be thanking him for anything. "I'll see you in the morning then?" she asked, knowing quite well that she would see him in the morning, and in the afternoon, and in the evening, and if she were feeling particularly unlucky, perhaps even in her dreams.

"Always."

He could be quite the charmer, she thought, when he tried. In fact, if she didn't know far too well exactly what he was capable of, she might even consider falling for him. Instead, she had to play along with his little games, allowing him to charm her to his heart's content, but always reminding herself that none of it was ever for real, that he would kill her in a heartbeat if he ever found out what she was trying to do.

Or would he? She considered this point as she laid in bed, waiting for sleep to come. His goal is obvious…but how dear to him is it? Would she be able to change his mind? If he wouldn't, she realized, nothing she could do short of convincing the house elves to poison his pudding would do any good. In theory, if this had any chance of succeeding, she should be able to tell him exactly who she was and exactly why she was there, and he should agree that it was a good idea, and it should work regardless. However, even were that to be her eventual plan, she knew that it was still far too early to try something like that; she would have to work on getting closer first, convincing him that she was worth his time.

She already seemed to have gotten his attention fairly well; even when he was pointedly ignoring her, he was apparently watching her rather closely. It should have unnerved her, and truly it did for a moment, but she knew that it was for the best; having his attention was far better than not, and she had a lot of his attention if he knew how she spent her classes.

Having his attention, it seemed the next logical step would be to first maintain it. He said he liked that she was doing well in her classes, and so she knew that she was going to have to devote more time to studying than ever in order to impress him. If she couldn't manage at least second best marks in their year, he would be disappointed, and would likely stop paying attention to her. She didn't believe it possible to beat his marks, but if she could, that would certainly spark his interest.

Maybe she could see him outside of the typical classes, meals, and tutoring eventually; she would of course have to let him ask – it was the forties, after all – but it could get his attention even more, potentially in something other than a purely academic light. Thinking about it, she realized that more likely than not if she could get to that point with him, she would have won. If she could be interesting enough to take a break from homework, studying, and the quest for world domination, she had a chance at being interesting enough to give up the world domination quest more permanently.

So it all boiled down to homework – books and cleverness were her strong points, as she pointed out her first year. Strange that after all this, after all they'd gone through, it wasn't bravery or loyalty or a willingness to sacrifice; it was writing essays and taking tests and reading books that mattered now. Harry and Ron had been wrong after all.

She felt better, having figured all this out. Confident that all she had to do was perform well in class (and not attack Tom Riddle), she knew that she could do it. She tried to relax further, and to keep all thoughts of Tom Riddle far from her mind as she felt sleep begin to overtake her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** I know this chapter has taken me forever to get up, and I'm sorry. I had midterms, followed by Spring Break (during which I didn't have time to write anything), and so I finally actually got it written! The next chapter, I'm not sure how long it'll take, but probably not as long as this one did. I also know that this chapter is short, but I just wanted to put _something_ up, since it's been so long.

As always, I hope you enjoy, and look forward to hearing what you think!

* * *

Of course, she failed

Of course, she failed. Her dreams were absolutely full of images of Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle laughing; Tom Riddle smirking; Tom Riddle glaring; Tom Riddle with his wand raised at her. When she woke, she knew the last had been a frightening image; she knew how poorly that could have turned out, how dangerous a situation that had been. The most alarming of all, though, was the image of Tom Riddle smiling at her as he had last night; he seemed too…_human_ to her. She knew it was bad.

It took her a moment, at first, to remember what had happened the night before; when she did, she found herself rather pleased. She needed to learn to control her temper, though. She needed to remind herself that, as off-putting as the concept of being close to Tom may have been, the concept of not being close to him was disastrous. This time, she would play nice; she would watch her temper, control her emotions, and not upset Tom Riddle.

She was glad that it was the weekend, and that she didn't have classes. She wasn't sure, after last night, if Elizabeth would have woken her up – she didn't seem very pleased with either her or Tom Riddle at dinner – and she didn't particularly feel like finding out at right that moment. She laid in bed a bit longer, indulging in her desire to not get up – after all, she had accomplished a lot over the past week, and it felt like the longest week of her life; she deserved a bit of laziness if she felt like it. Soon, however, she realized that she did have things to do; she climbed out of bed, showered and dressed, and – seeing that it was still time for breakfast – went into the Great Hall.

She wasn't looking forward to seeing all of her classmates – Elizabeth most especially. But she knew that randomly disappearing for the entire weekend would not be a good idea, that it would make people suspicious, and the last thing she needed was for her personal life to become the concern of the entirety of Slytherin house.

She was, however, looking forward to seeing Tom Riddle. Or…not looking forward to it, per se, as she knew that every interaction she had with him would have to be painstakingly thought out, nothing could be done on impulse, and it was rather tiring after a while. But the thought of seeing him again, after the progress she had recently made, was an exhilarating one. She knew it was dangerous to _want_ to see him, but she also knew that there was nothing she could do about it; besides, if she had to spend all of her time trying to get closer to him, she might as well enjoy it.

She felt a small smile reach her face as she walked into the Great Hall and saw him sitting at the table, but then realized that she had no idea if she was supposed to sit next to him or not. The table was mostly empty – Saturday mornings had never been popular with the students – so she couldn't just take whatever empty seat there was.

_If all goes according to plan,_ she thought to herself, _you'll only have to deal with him for a couple of months. Just go for it._

Taking in a deep breath – as she didn't quite consider him a friend, and truthfully was never the most comfortable in most social situations – she walked over to the Slytherin table and sat down across from him.

She considered saying good morning, or some similar greeting, to announce her presence, but decided against it. If he didn't notice her immediately, it was because he was preoccupied, and breaking his concentration was likely not the best way to maintain friendly relations. So she simply started filling her plate, this time determined that she would actually taste some of her food; she'd been forcing herself to eat for the past several days, and for the first time this term she actually felt hungry.

She resisted the urge to just shovel the food into her mouth; she wasn't Ron, after all, and sitting across from the person she was trying very hard to impress was probably not the best time to begin channeling his spirit.

After a few moments, Tom Riddle noticed that she was sitting across from him. "Good morning," he said brightly, sounding far more awake than Hermione would be able to manage for a good two hours. _So many morning people_, she thought. No way she would ever be able to keep up. There must be a trick to it. She vowed to find out what that trick was.

"Morning, Tom," she said, forcing her voice into as much alertness as she could muster. It wasn't nearly as convincing as she had hoped, but better than nothing. Tom didn't mention it, at least.

They shared a few minutes of borderline-awkward small talk, Hermione trying her best to seem interesting and intelligent – something that she had never had to try for in her life. Thankfully, Hermione had an essay to write, to excuse her from the table; she didn't know what Tom was doing sitting there by himself – she hadn't seen him take a single bite – but she needed a way out of the conversation, to give her a chance to wake up and come back to life before dealing with him again.

And writing an essay, she thought, was exactly the sort of thing Tom Riddle would approve of her doing.

"I'm sorry, but I've an essay to write for Transfiguration," she said as polite as possible, trying to let him know that she really was sorry.

"Oh, certainly," he responded. "Do you need any help?" he asked.

She reminded herself to not be offended; of course she wouldn't need help, but it was probably a very good thing that he had offered. "I think I'll be fine, actually – it'll just take me a while to actually write it. Thank you, though."

"Well if you change your mind, I'll be in my dorm for most of today; feel free to come see me."

She wasn't quite sure of how the culture was, fifty years before she was supposed to be a teenager, but she had a feeling that girls didn't usually go into the boy's dorms. However, she wasn't certain, and even if it wasn't done that didn't mean that there was any _reason_ for it, or that there was any rule against it. So she smiled gratefully and walked out of the Great Hall, towards the Slytherin common room, where she would sit and write and perfect her essay for as long as it took.

She would get perfect marks on it. She had no choice.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **So. I have a presentation to give and a test to take tomorrow. So, obviously, I decided to write a chapter! 'Cause that's just how school works, I guess (yay higher education). I didn't get very many reviews for the last chapter, probably because the long delay made everyone hate me, but that's cool; I hope that you enjoyed it, just as I hope that you enjoy this one. Cheers!

* * *

Three hours and sixteen inches of essay-writing later, Hermione decided that it was time for a break

Three hours and sixteen inches of essay-writing later, Hermione decided that it was time for a break. She could have – should have – been done by now, and indeed she was finished with her first draft, but it wasn't quite perfect yet. She had always strived for excellence, but never before had she actually _needed_ perfection. She was starting to realize, she thought, what Harry and Ron had meant about homework not always being the most desired activity.

Harry hadn't wanted to fight Lord Voldemort once, twice, countless times. But he had done so anyway, because he knew he had to. But he hadn't won, somehow – all of his dedication and loyalty and preoccupation had somehow not managed to pay off, and so now it was on _her_ shoulders.

She wouldn't get to just fight him once or twice, however. Every single day she would be fighting, until the fight was over and there was nothing more she could do. Every single day she would be fighting against herself, against the parts of her that wanted to run home screaming, and against the parts of her that wanted to forget that she was supposed to be doing something. Every single day she would be fighting against laziness, against the urge to settle for comfortable. Every single day she would be fighting her hardest to maintain an unbelievable, perhaps even unattainable, degree of perfection.

And even worse, there was nobody she could tell about her fights. Nobody could know why the new girl worked so hard, why she was always tired and irritated and very possibly sick of doing her schoolwork; if she didn't want to spend so long writing essays and reading extra material, they would think, why didn't she just _not_? Nobody could know why. Nobody could know _her_. That was one advantage Harry would always have over her in his struggles – he had friends, people like family, that he could go to for guidance and support.

The only person she knew who she thought would even bother listening to her problems was the one person who, more than anyone else, she could not tell – at least not yet.

Her solace was that perhaps, someday, she could tell him. Her encouragement was that she knew, more or less, how to win. This battle was playing on her strengths, and she would never have to choose between her goal and the people she cared for; her goal, in an almost direct way, was to get back to those people that she cared for, and to find them safe and whole and untouched by the harm that had come to them.

Something was missing, she thought. Her thoughts, her ideas, fit together too well; she was able to look on this too positively. She had always possessed a reasonable mastery of her mind, but she knew her boundaries as well, and knew that her mind was skipping something, ignoring some fact, else this would not be resolved so well.

It bothered her, that she couldn't realize what she was forgetting. It was perhaps just the stress of the thing, making her feel like she was forgetting something. And even if she was leaving something out, she realized, it was perhaps for the best – she needed a positive outlook. She needed some glimmer of hope that she could actually do what she was meant to do, else she might as well give up just then.

So she put the thought out of her mind, hoping that it wouldn't, as forgotten things often do, come to her when she was least expecting it. Not for a while, at least.

She stood up, setting her quill aside, waiting for the ink to dry. She stretched for a moment, her back and shoulders starting to cramp from sitting for so long.

Tom Riddle walked out from his room at just the time Hermione had started to roll up her essay, intending to store it in her trunk until tomorrow, when she would have to finish it. She didn't feel like her mind could take any more for the time being, and knew better than to try; she would end up writing something even worse, she knew, and would be guaranteed to not get her perfect marks. It would just leave her with more work to do tomorrow.

She turned around, essay and quill in one hand, bottle of ink in the other, to head back into her room. She gasped, startled, upon seeing Tom Riddle standing so near to her. She nearly screamed, however, when she realized that in her startlement she had managed to dump almost her entire ink bottle on herself.

This could be a problem, she realized, as she had only brought a small amount of gold with her; it wouldn't do to spend it all on bottles of ink. This could be even more of a problem, she realized a moment later, in that though she had managed to rescue her essay from the torrent of black ink, she would need more in order to write the final draft of her essay for class on Monday. And there wasn't, as far as she knew, a Hogsmeade weekend in sight.

"Oh dear," said Tom Riddle. "I didn't mean to startle you, and I certainly didn't mean for you to ruin your bottle of ink…"

She forced herself to not start yelling at him for his inconsideration. Instead, she took in a deep breath and let it out before speaking. "It's perfectly fine, I was just being clumsy is all. Though I don't know where I'm going to get another bottle," she said regretfully.

"Of course you'll use mine until you can get a new one," he said immediately. "After all, it is my fault you…lost yours."

"Oh no, I couldn't impose like that," she said quickly.

"It's no imposition," he assured her. "We can just work together, after all."

She knew that this was either a very good idea or a very bad one; but it seemed she didn't have much of a choice. After all, she _did_ need the ink, and she couldn't very well risk offending him either. So she smiled, as genuine a smile as she could muster. "That sounds wonderful," she said, though she wasn't at all sure if it really did.

Tom nodded at her, offering a smile in return. "Then it's settled," he said.

She looked down suddenly and groaned at the ink stain that was settling in her robes. "Curses," she muttered. Of course she had left her wand in her room. By the time she would get her wand, the stain would never come out, not even with magic. This was turning into a rather expensive afternoon.

Tom, sensing her concern, vanished the ink immediately. A chivalric male; even in Gryffindor she hadn't seen too many of those, at least not in that fashion. It was outdated in the time she grew up in, of course – but still. As sexist as it was, she had to admit that she liked being treated like a girl. It made a nice change from being overlooked for so long.

"Thank you," she said, granting him another small smile.

"Now, I've noticed you working down here for ages, and I thought that you might like to take a break," he said.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing." She was flirting with him. Again. She still wasn't sure if she should be or not, but decided to just go with it. After all, even if he was the future Dark Lord, every girl deserved to have a bit of fun. Not to mention that this could turn out to be just the break she needed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** So, I meant to have this out by last Friday, but this chapter didn't want to come out for anything (that's also why it's so short). I'm also considering getting a beta for this, so if any of my lovely readers has any experience beta-ing, or thinks they want to try, and would be willing to do so in order to read the chapters early, let me know in a review.

And with all that said, I hope you enjoy!

Obviously, it would have been too easy if she had already managed to capture his attention that effectively; his idea for a break turned out to be lunch which, though nothing spectacular or out of the ordinary, was still better nothing

Obviously, it would have been too easy if she had already managed to capture his attention that effectively; his idea for a break turned out to be lunch which, though nothing spectacular or out of the ordinary, was still better nothing. Besides, she really did need to eat something.

Being significantly more awake at lunch than she had been at breakfast, it turned out to be a much less strenuous affair. As different as Tom Riddle was from her old friends, she was surprised to find that she could talk to him in a completely different way, relate to him in a manner that she had never been able to with Ron and Harry. Different, new, and somehow…still natural. She had to watch what she said, of course, because slipping up and knowing something she shouldn't would not be acceptable; but at the same time, she didn't worry as much about boring him, and she knew there was very little she would have to explain to Tom. It was less stressful in that way, not having to pretend to be normal, not having to feign interest in silly things like Quidditch games just to keep her friends.

"How is your essay going?" he asked, sounding validly interested in her progress.

"Decently," she replied. "I'm considering going deeper into the exact principles behind giving something a task when animating it." It was obviously unnecessary – the professor hadn't asked for anything nearly so thorough. But when trying to impress someone like Tom, more was virtually guaranteed to be better; not to mention, of course, that she didn't want to risk this conversation coming to an end just yet.

"May I recommend something by Blitsworth? He is, I believe, the leading expert on purposeful transfiguration; I find his works fascinating."

Hermione couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, but his face seemed earnest enough that she was fairly sure that she was supposed to take him seriously, at least. It was easier, probably, to simply play along, react in the ways he meant her to – at least until she could be more certain of what he actually meant when he spoke. It wouldn't do for her to seem paranoid – seeing through his pretenses might be useful eventually, but until she could do it with any real degree of certainty, she knew she shouldn't show that she was even trying.

"Thank you," she said with a smile, trying to sound genuine. "I'll be sure to look into that." And memorize every word she read, if she was being honest. She needed something, desperately needed anything, that she could use to make conversation with Tom Riddle. She needed something that would allow her to show off a bit – not to upstage him, certainly, as that seemed a patently bad idea, to upstage the future Dark Lord – but enough to make sure that he knew that she was smarter than the average student, to ensure that she had his attention.

"Well of course," he said.

An awkward silence ensued, of exactly the sort that Hermione was trying to avoid. If Tom thought that she was boring…

Unable to think of anything to add, but not wanting Tom to realize it, she allowed herself to appear immersed in her thoughts – not a difficult feat considering exactly how many thoughts she had to lose herself in.

A few moments later, before she'd managed to thoroughly space out, Tom brought her back to the real world – if this extremely odd, awkward situation she was in counted as the real world. "So Jane, how are you finding Hogwarts?"

Obviously an attempt at small talk; but it was better than the weather, and certainly better than not speaking at all. "I like it quite well, actually. The classes are obviously rather difficult, but I enjoy the challenge; it's different."

He seemed to approve of that. It was getting rather tiring, she thought, intending her every word, her every action to gain the approval and perhaps even the eventual affection of a person she had no romantic or even platonic interest in. She could pull it off, however, if she had to; after all, she hadn't been the one sent back for no reason. Perhaps eventually she would be allowed to be herself a bit more effectively.

"That's good to hear," he replied. Yes, definitely an awkward conversation. Hermione wanted to leave, to go do something, _anything_ but continue to sit here across from Tom; however she had been the one to excuse herself previously, and didn't want to seem rude. She finished her food and sat politely, waiting for him to say something.

He, however, seemed perfectly content to sit across from her and just kind of stare. It made her downright uncomfortable, if she was perfectly honest – she wasn't used to being stared at, and especially not so openly. She wondered if he even realized what he was looking at, knowing that sometimes people seemed to be gazing at a person or a thing without seeing it, thoughts miles away.

She gave up, then, any thoughts of not seeming rude, of waiting for him to leave before she did. The way she saw it, there were only two options: either he was perfectly happy to sit and stare at her for indeterminable amounts of time, in which case he wasn't likely to excuse himself anytime soon; or he had no idea of what he was doing, where he was, or even whom he was with, in which case there was no telling how long it would be before he regained his senses.

She cleared her throat, in a way rather reminiscent of former (or is that future) Professor Umbridge, in an effort to get Tom's attention. He sat up a bit straighter, blinked a couple of times, and she knew that he was done, for now at least, with whatever it was that had just been going on.

"If you'll excuse me, Tom, I think I'm going to go for a walk around the grounds." Being outdoors seemed like an excellent idea; it felt like she hadn't been out of doors in at least a month. It of course held the slight risk of her thoughts being interrupted by practically anyone in the school; but then, after Tom's show of the night before, she had no idea whether there was a student who would risk interacting with her at all.

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Jane," he said with a smile. _No_, she thought furiously. _Please don't…_ "Of course, I would be only too pleased to give you a tour. Hogwarts grounds are rather large, and can be confusing to those not properly acquainted." The smile on his face looked genuine – but then, it always did. And she was certain that nobody could possibly be that overly helpful; he had to be doing it on purpose.

Regardless, she couldn't risk another bout of relatively undeserved rudeness. Putting on her best imitation of a shy smile, trying to seem like she was trying very hard to not seem happier than she should be, she said, "That would be very nice, actually." And the two left the Great Hall.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** This is the shortest chapter so far; but I wanted to make up for the absurd length between updates I've been slipping into. Also, I'll either be updating very frequently or not at all for the next few weeks; I'm not sure yet which approach I'll be taking to finals and packing and such. So I hope you enjoy! Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated!

* * *

Admiring the grounds was not nearly as difficult as she would have supposed – it was as beautiful as ever, and some parts of it were unfamiliar

Admiring the grounds was not nearly as difficult as she would have supposed – it was as beautiful as ever, and some parts of it were unfamiliar. It was different, though whether for better or worse she couldn't say, to see Hogwarts without the Whomping Willow – with the forest creeping up on the groundskeeper's cabin, almost engulfing it.

She was mildly irritated, admittedly, to not have the time to herself as she had planned. Having to be good company got old rather quickly – she had counted on being able to take a break, to thoroughly not think about anything she didn't want to, to think about everything that she wouldn't allow herself to under most circumstances.

But being with Tom was, as always, generally preferable to not being with Tom, at least as far as the whole "saving the world" thing was concerned. So she minded her temper – it wasn't as hard as it had been just earlier that week. Maybe she was adjusting, the stress wasn't getting to her quite as much. She almost laughed, had to stifle it before it even started to come out; that wasn't something she could explain, and didn't want Tom to think her completely insane. More likely, she thought, the stress had already gotten to her far too effectively; she was just past feeling any of it.

Their walk ended without too much having been said. Hermione complimented the Hogwarts grounds, constantly in apparent awe of the beauty. Tom seemed pleased with that, and made sure to show her the best parts of it, always very much the gentleman. She could almost see, sometimes, how it was that nobody caught on to the fact that he was so much more than he ever revealed. If she hadn't known who she was dealing with, she was able to admit that she wouldn't have known the difference.

When they had gotten back to the castle, however, it occurred to Hermione that she didn't know what she was going to be doing next. It occurred to her moments later that the way she felt required to account for all of her time when she wasn't with Tom was completely absurd – she was, after all, not in any way (that he knew of, at least) required to spend any of her time with him at all. She could go off and snog Charles Black in any deserted corridor she desired, and Tom Riddle wouldn't have a single valid complaint about it.

She remembered the advice that Parvati had given her once – completely unprovoked, as always. _Boys like a little mystery, Hermione. _What use she thought Hermione would ever have for that priceless tidbit was another mystery altogether. Hermione hadn't been interested in anyone besides Ron since fourth year, and that boy thought that a flock of canaries to the face was too mysterious.

Riddle, however, would probably get the hint – and maybe a bit of mystery would do him well. She wouldn't take it too far, of course, as it just wouldn't do for him to think that she wasn't interested, but… Her life would be made significantly easier if she didn't have to deal with him every minute of every day.

"Goodbye, Tom," she said simply – though with a smile. She then walked off, in the direction of the Slytherin common room, hoping to any god who was listening that he would get the hint and _not_ follow her.

Luck was, just this once, with her. She didn't hear his footsteps come after her – and she was listening as hard as she possibly could – and she didn't hear his footsteps going anywhere else, either. Whether he was just being polite and giving her some time to get away before going back to the common room, or whether he was actually trying to figure out why she had departed so suddenly, she would never know; and to be perfectly honest, she didn't think she cared either way. The fact was, she had finally managed to scrape a minute to herself – a minute to just sit and _be_, without being social and pleasant, or hardworking and studious.

The problem was, she didn't know what to do with herself. In the past – or future – when she had unexpected free time, she took advantage of it as extra time to study; however at that moment, additional studying was more or less the least appealing pastime she could think of. A walk around the grounds had been her original design, but as that plan had already backfired once in the day, she didn't feel inclined to further press her luck with it. As for other friends… to be perfectly honest she couldn't say that she had any left. She hadn't seen Elizabeth since the previous night, and she was fairly certain that Tom's offense would not have been forgotten that quickly. And Charles…

Tom's threat had been very scarcely veiled, and she had to imagine that even before his official rise as a Dark Lord, there were not many people familiar with him that would not have bowed to such a command.

And so Hermione was as alone as she had ever been, after finally having managed to escape Tom's company. Even with Tom, actually, she still felt rather alone – acting at least ninety percent of the time, watching her responses and his with equal vigor. However, such was life when trying to save the world from a threat that hadn't reached anything like its peak yet; nobody could fight beside her, nobody could even know what she was trying to do, because if she tried telling anyone, they would think her rather insane and would likely try to have her committed to St Mungo's.

After all of this, Hermione decided that she had most definitely earned a nap. Not a long one, certainly, as if she slept for too long, she would be presented with difficulties come nighttime; but a short one, maybe an hour or two at the most, wouldn't do her any harm. So she went into the dormitory, found her bed, and laid down; she was fast asleep within five minutes.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** So, this took forever; I'm sorry. Finals, and then moving, and then all sorts of other stuff including my laptop not having internet for a while (up to and including now; I had to find my flash drive to get this chapter up). There might be a few typos or formatting errors on here - odd stuff during the file transfer, I assume, as I just caught one now. I will _try_ to have the next chapter up within a week; no promises, but my goal in general is to update at least weekly.

Well, okay. I've said enough for now. I hope you all like the chapter (and the story in general)! Reviews, positive or negative, are as always greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

* * *

Roughly an hour and a half later, Hermione awoke from her peaceful, well-deserved slumber. She had managed to escape from dreaming for the time, at least as far as she remembered, which was good – she was getting more than a bit tired of dreams that felt nearly as strenuous as being awake. She realized that she had come very near to sleeping through dinner, though she didn't feel nearly hungry enough to justify facing everyone. A trip down to the kitchens sounded infinitely more appealing, as she wasn't exactly in the most social of moods – but then, she wasn't supposed to even know where the kitchen was, and would certainly not be able to explain herself were she caught sneaking back with a sandwich.

She knew herself well enough to realize that if she skipped dinner tonight, sleep would become nearly impossible for her later. So she got out of bed, smoothed down her wrinkled clothing (with little success), and smoothed down her frizzy hair (with even less success). Having given up on her appearance as a lost cause for the time being – and, realistically, forever – she glanced in the mirror one last time and stepped out into the common room.

Of course, because that's just how her life seemed to work at this point, the instant she stepped out of her room she was met with Tom Riddle. He wasn't standing directly in front of her door, or even anywhere near where she would have to walk – she thanked him mentally for not intruding upon her personal space. It was obvious, however – to her if no one else – that he had been waiting for her; though on practically the other side of the common room, his face and body were oriented completely towards the point of her emergence. Even had she possessed the presence of mind to quickly sneak back into her dormitory, skip dinner, and not deal with him right then, it would have achieved nothing but to raise his suspicions; he knew the moment the door opened that it could only be she who was coming out, and she had no excuse, believable or not, as to why she would change her mind about dinner.

She was flattered by his attention. She had always noticed that he had been giving her a rather absurd amount of special treatment, but was usually too annoyed and frustrated by his seemingly constant presence to appreciate how much of a sacrifice he was probably making. In order to spend such a ridiculous amount of time either around her or waiting for her, he really couldn't be doing too much else. Who knew how long he had been out here, silently watching for her to come out, probably wondering if she was going to come out at all. If she hadn't come out, he probably wouldn't have gone to dinner at all. He probably would have kept waiting for her, offering to show her to the kitchens or something equally considerate.

If he wasn't so damn evil, Hermione thought, he really would be quite perfect.

Trying not to be incredibly and unexplainably rude, she put a big smile on her face a second after seeing him. "Good evening, Tom!" she said in a cheery voice; she wasn't sure how transparent the good mood was, but couldn't justify not at least trying to seem happy.

She wondered briefly if he was confused by her actions, her sudden shifts in mood. Merlin, she must've seemed out of her mind by now. But he didn't seem incredibly likely to turn his back on her as of yet, so she would take it as a good thing. "Evening, Jane," he replied. "Care for some dinner?"

"I'm ravenous, since you ask," she replied with a fair amount of exaggeration.

"Just in time then; it'll be almost over, but there's still time to eat something."

She smiled again. "Excellent," she answered. She considered for a moment, and decided to let him know that his chivalry had not gone unnoticed. "Have you been waiting all this time for me?" she asked.

He smiled slightly and Hermione thought his cheeks might've turned half a shade pinker, though she was probably imagining it. "I wasn't sure if you were planning on coming out," was his only response. From what she'd gathered from years of hanging around Ron and Harry, that translated roughly into: "Yes, but you weren't supposed to notice, and I wasn't being nice I promise."

"I was taking a nap," she explained, "and I didn't wake up until just now. Thank you very much," she added.

"There's no need to thank me, of course," he responded. "As Head Boy, I obviously couldn't let our newest student miss dinner, especially without knowing whether something was wrong."

She let it drop, sensing that he didn't want his motives explored further. She was getting better at that, at reading his behaviour, not provoking him.

"Shall we, then?" she asked after a moment, trying to cover up the awkwardness of leaving a conversation unfinished.

"Certainly." He held his arm out for her, and she took it. She wasn't certain whether the gesture was common of the times, but it was pleasant regardless, and she did as was expected of her.

Walking into the Great Hall with Tom was a daunting concept in theory. In practice, however, it was not nearly so intimidating. After all, with dinner almost over the Great Hall was nearly empty. That, combined with the fact that she had been spending almost all of her time – free or otherwise – with him made it seem positively… natural. Whether it was a good thing that it seemed natural to be around Tom was a completely different matter, and she chose not to explore it; she had a feeling what the answer would be, and wasn't quite sure she was up to another long introspective session revolving around events and actions she didn't really have much choice on.

Dinner was a pleasant affair. It was mildly awkward as always, but she was getting used to that, and it wasn't so much that she couldn't enjoy whatever conversation they happened to be having.

"So you were asleep?" asked Tom after a few moments of a vaguely awkward silence.

"Yes. I never meant to sleep so long, though. I suppose I was more tired than I realized."

"Well you have had a busy week, with adjusting to the school and such," he replied. "It's understandable that you would be a bit weary."

"Hopefully I'll be back to normal tomorrow. I still have to finish the transfiguration essay, and it just won't do if I lose half my day again."

"You'll be working with me, though." That was right, she recalled, after the Great Ink Spill of the early afternoon. "Just say the word, and I won't let you go until you've finished."

Were he anybody besides Tom Riddle, Hermione would have been expecting a wink at the end of that sentence. As it stood, she wasn't entirely sure whether she should laugh. She decided to avoid it, however, on the likelihood that he was being serious. If he was serious, she should probably be more alarmed, but… At this point, really, was there any purpose to be served by getting scared?

"I may have to take you up on that, Tom," she replied.

She looked away from him for a moment, and around at the rest of the Great Hall. She was startled by the lack of people – they had been left apparently alone in the huge room.

The alarm that Hermione had managed to stifle earlier began to emerge suddenly, manifesting as a sense of great unease and a touch of nausea. It would be superb, she thought, if she could get her emotions under at least some vague sort of control.

"It's getting late," she said. "I think I should head back to bed, before I wake up too much to get to sleep again."

She pushed her chair back and stood up, not waiting for his response, not wanting to encourage any sort of delay. She was starting to feel more and more like she was going to be sick, and felt that leaving the room would probably help the sensation to subside.

She began to walk towards the exit nearest the Slytherin common room, still as gracefully as ever, refusing to let her mental unsteadiness show in his presence. She had almost reached the exit when she heard Tom Riddle's voice one more time than she had intended to for the night.

"Wait."


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** So, the chapter came considerably sooner than I realized it would. I hope you like it. And again, if any of you would be willing to beta this, let me know in a review or something. Enjoy!

The feeling in her stomach doubled in intensity at the very least upon hearing that one word

The feeling in her stomach doubled in intensity at the very least upon hearing that one word. She was curious as to what he had to say, but not curious enough to negate the annoyance she felt at having her exit interrupted.

Regardless, she stopped. She took in a deep breath and let it out, forcing herself to calm down before responding. Pleading with her nausea to quell, to subside if only for a few moments, she stood still. Finally, after a moment that lasted forever, she turned.

"Jane, I just wanted to…" he stopped midsentence, a look of something – concern perhaps, were that possible – coming very suddenly and very thoroughly into his face. "Are you okay?" he asked, stepping quickly towards her.

What a silly question, she thought, though for only a moment. It wasn't until Tom put a hand on her shoulder that she realized her temperature was off – whether too warm or too cold, she couldn't tell. "Oh," she said simply, adding a small quick gasp as her balance left her unexpectedly, causing her to grab on to his arms to avoid falling over onto the hard floor.

Maybe it was a good thing, she thought in a vague, distant sort of way, unable to leave the strange embrace with Tom, that he hadn't allowed her to simply make her exit when she had intended.

Her head began to clear a bit. She hadn't realized that her vision was blurry until it suddenly came back into sharp focus. Her grip strengthened on Tom as she got more of her strength back, though he did not release his hold on her.

"I think I'm alright," she said hesitantly, after a moment. "Let me go, I think I can stand."

He did as he was told, though very tentatively, and he kept his hands no more than a few inches from her as he did so. He obviously did not trust her interpretation of her strength, and she wasn't sure that she could blame him at this point.

However, her legs managed to hold her up, and her balance survived the test of releasing Tom's arms. She sighed in relief, letting go a breath she was unaware she had been holding.

Suddenly hyperaware of the distance, or more specifically the startling lack of distance, between her and Tom, Hermione took a quick step back. Running her hands over her face, wiping away the sweat that had formed there at some point during her short-lasted bout of illness, she looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said in barely a whisper, not knowing whether her voice wanted to break and not giving it a chance to. "I'm alright now. I don't know what came over me."

Tom took an equally quick step towards her, putting his hands once again on her shoulders, and this time it did not bring about a fainting spell. The feeling in her stomach continued to multiply, but she paid it no mind. She no longer wanted to escape, to get away from Tom Riddle.

She resisted following the question of whether it was a good thing that she felt safer in his presence than she did alone. She didn't want to hear the answer.

"Are you certain you're alright?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm certain," she said in a significantly firmer voice. To her delight, it held strong.

She told herself very sternly that her happiness was from the dissipation of her symptoms, and absolutely nothing else.

He looked at her suspiciously, still not trusting that she had recovered so suddenly.

"Then perhaps you should be back in bed," he said. "Unless you would rather not be by yourself just yet."

She understood the invitation in his words instantly, and found herself tempted to take him up on it. But she needed time to be by herself, and she really did need to try to get to sleep. Besides, it would be rude to ask him to stay with her, even if he did offer.

"I think rest is exactly what I need, actually. A good night's sleep does wonders for one's health."

He nodded, not seeming upset that she refused his offered companionship. "Shall we?" he asked.

She nodded. This time when he offered her his arm, she knew it had nothing to do with the times, or appearances, or whatever his cause had been earlier; it was a matter of chivalry in the most distinct manner, he trying to ensure her safety.

They didn't speak on the way back to the common room, both of them evidently preoccupied with their thoughts. When they arrived, Tom stopped her for a moment.

"If you need anything, I'll be in my room all night; don't hesitate to ask." He paused for a moment, as if considering something. "Goodnight Jane," he said.

"Goodnight Tom." She smiled at him, a real smile for once, out of gratitude and relief – nothing more – and turned and walked into her room.

She went straight for her bed and laid down. She didn't try to sleep, however – she was still a bit wired after what had happened, and needed a chance to think things through.

She had no idea what had happened to make her so suddenly unwell. But it passed, and she saw no point in dwelling over things that made no difference.

Tom's reaction, however, could make a big difference. He was concerned about her. This was good news, as it proved – as much as such things could be proven – that he cared about her. Caring about people, she decided, was not a trait generally attributed to Dark Lords.

But, she realized with a sudden touch of despair, it was a trait generally attributed to Head Boys. Damn it. He could have just been doing his job. Still, though. He had seemed genuinely concerned…

She remembered having decided to not waste time trying to figure out when he was acting and when he was being honest. She realized now that she was going to have to figure that out, one way or another, else she would never be able to tell whether or not she'd made any difference at all.

She couldn't very well just ask him whether he still wanted to be evil. That would raise suspicion to no end, and he would probably lie anyway – or just kill her and be done with it.

She was restless. She couldn't think in bed – she had to be moving, walking around or some such. She decided to go into the common room, where there was plenty of room for pacing. Who cared if it was full of people who would probably think her completely insane?

Wait. She had to care. Damn it again. Someone would invariably tell Tom of her unusual behaviour – their current degree of interaction couldn't be going unnoticed – and then he would ask what was wrong. And she wouldn't have an answer.

But if she stayed in this bed for one more minute, she was going to explode. Sighing, she grabbed a book from her trunk. She didn't pay attention to which one, knowing that they were all new – Dumbledore had kindly presented her with several books befitting the era, not wanting her to get caught with an as-of-yet unpublished version of _Hogwarts: A History_ or some such.

Knowing that she wouldn't take in a word of the book, and in fact using it mostly as a cover for not being in her room, she went out into the common room to begin pretending to read.

Maybe she should just convince the House Elves to poison his pudding. It would make everyone's life considerably easier – and by everyone, she meant her.

That would never work. The House Elves had to have been instructed to not kill students. Even if they were evil and plotting to take over the world, it probably went against policy.

She could go home right now, and quit. Just hope that she had done enough, and the world was safe. But that would be irresponsible. She didn't think that she had done very much. And besides, even if she had gotten him to care about her, if she left right now it would probably mess him up even more. He could end up hating women as well as muggleborns, and then she'd be doubly persecuted.

So she had to stay. She had to stay and keep trying, keep making sure that he wasn't evil. How she was supposed to do that, she had no idea – but she had to try.

On the upside, she couldn't see him having much time for being evil, what with spending so much of his time with her. Maybe she would just have to make sure that his schedule was so incredibly full that he wouldn't have a moment to spare for plotting and planning and transforming and genocide-ing.

Now she was just being absurd. But really, what else was she supposed to do? She had had a very stressful day – and week, and year, and to be perfectly honest her entire life since age twelve or so had been no picnic – and deserved a chance to be ridiculous for a few minutes.

She sighed. She still had no idea what she was going to do, but she was starting to get a headache. It was time to head back to bed, and hopefully fall asleep before she convinced herself to do something completely insane.

She walked back into her dorm room, book still opened to the first page, and laid down in bed.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Okay, you all hate me and I apologize. Real Life erupted into a great big pile of Actually Doing Stuff for the first time in forever. This chapter is shorter than I tried to make it, but I'm getting tired and it just didn't want to be written. I'll try to pick up the updating pace, and probably the story pace too (a slow chapter as well as a short one)! Reviews are always appreciated - let me know how I'm doing please!

Sleep still refused to come

Sleep still refused to come. She hadn't really expected to have much luck – her nap earlier had been overlong and besides, she wanted to sleep, to not be awake anymore, so much as to make the plausibility of drifting off as close to nonexistent as can really be managed.

She laid in bed for what seemed like ages, eyes closed, disallowing herself to think of anything besides her breathing. She focused on her breathing with a mental _inhale… exhale…_ pattern so strictly that if she allowed her thoughts to wander for even an instant, she would stop breathing.

And still, sleep didn't come.

She _lumos_-ed her wand and brought out the book she had been pretending to read earlier. It was not interesting in the slightest, not even to her – and she loved books to no end. Still, she read a page, then a chapter, then a hundred pages, then the entire Part I of the book.

Sleep wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. Not even if it had gloves on.

She finished the book, surprised that she had managed to stay awake through all the boredom and dullness and the complete lack of anything even remotely interesting or relevant. She couldn't see outside from her underground room, but she felt certain that the sky would be lightening in preparation for the sunrise at the very least. But it was a Sunday, and she didn't want to give up this precious opportunity to sleep in.

Sleep had deleted her off of his MySpace, his Facebook, his e-mail address list, every messenger service he had, and probably even the memory in his cell phone.

By this point, Hermione knew that the sun had to be at least halfway risen in the sky, and she felt that she would be lucky to fall asleep by lunchtime. Cursing insomnia and afternoon naps simultaneously, she got out of bed and walked in the direction of the bathroom, deciding to take a nice, long shower before figuring out what to do with the rest of her day.

With a groan that she barely managed to stifle, she remembered that she was supposed to spend most of the day with Tom Riddle, working on their Transfiguration essay. She had no idea how this was going to turn out. Writing a very important paper - one that she would be stressing out over even if absolute academic perfection wasn't now required in everything she did - with the future Dark Lord – whom she was supposed to… befriend or seduce or assassinate, or some mixture of the three – on absolutely no sleep – and no lack of trying.

Joy and wonderment would most definitely ensue – butterflies and candy canes and rainbows and picnics. That or mass murders and tears and sarcastic comments, and maybe even a few things that she would regret the next day, and find a tiny bit overboard.

Either way, it was sure to be an exciting day.

"Morning, Jane," said a voice that she very sincerely hoped was present only inside her sick, twisted, and sadistic subconscious.

She looked around just in case the voice came from a person who – though likely sick, twisted, and sadistic - did not in fact reside solely in her subconscious.

Unfortunately, her mind was for once not just playing tricks on her. She quickly pasted a smile onto her face, though her reaction time was not nearly as fast as she hoped it usually was.

"Morning Tom," she replied, trying to sound very much awake and desirable. She wished that she had been faster on the shower route, so she would have been able to take her time. "I was actually just going to take a shower, so I can't really talk just now."

That sounded like the phoniest excuse ever to not talk to someone. 'Sorry, I can't go out with you tonight, I've got to wash my hair,' on a whole new level. But it was true – she felt dirty and gross, which was reason enough to merit a shower even if she hadn't felt the need to just stand in a room by herself for a few minutes and pretend that everything was normal. Tom Riddle may get a lot of things – her time, her attention, and if things kept on in this fashion, probably most of her sanity – but she could not allow him to take away her attempts at normalcy, nor could she allow him to interfere so directly with her personal hygiene.

"Certainly," he replied. "Shall I see you at breakfast?"

She considered, very briefly, telling him to go directly to hell, and that she would meet him there. The lack of sleep was already seeming to do wonderful things to her temperament. She restrained herself, however, forcing the logical portion of her mentality to beat her grumpiness with a big stick down, away from her vocal cords. She really didn't want to do it, but she knew that it would be a bad decision at this point to continue appearing completely bipolar.

She then considered telling him that she was going to go back to bed as soon as she washed the grossness and fatigue off of her, but knew that if she went back to bed, she wouldn't wake up until the late afternoon at the earliest, and she had far too much to accomplish over the course of the day to risk such a lengthy, ill-timed nap. She was then left with no real choice.

"As soon as I'm done," she replied with a smile that she hoped was genuine even though she didn't feel anywhere near smiling.

He turned away then, probably to go to the Great Hall for breakfast or summon a meeting of the Future Death Eater Society or something else useful, and she turned away also, heading towards the showers, hoping that the water would help wake her up and make her useful for a day that was sure to be long and strenuous. Hermione realized that it would probably do no such thing, and the showerheads would likely transfigure into a stampeding horde of hippogriffs or something similar, just to make sure that she didn't get too comfortable with her positions as savior of the wizarding world, salvation of the soul of the future Dark Lord, and object of apparent obsession for the Head Boy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Her shower, somehow, did not end disastrously. She was halfway asleep through most of it, and for the parts that she wasn't asleep she was trying desperately to keep herself awake. She knew from her experiences over the past week – had it really only been a week – that being around Tom Riddle, though sometimes startlingly natural-feeling, required a lot of concentration. She had pulled off a lot of impressive feats in her time, including getting both Harry and Ron to pass their exams year after year, but this was something on a whole different level altogether. It was a startlingly peaceful experience, after how stressful and tense and completely aggravating the past few days had been for her. She thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it, regardless of how close to consciousness she had been.

Unfortunately, she couldn't manage to grow fins and gills and start living in the bathroom, so she had to come out eventually. She spent significantly longer than necessary fixing her hair and straightening her clothes, trying to forestall the inevitable, hoping in vain that Tom Riddle would have finished his breakfast and moved on to some other activity, but after a good half an hour of fiddling around she sighed and walked out of the common room, towards the Great Hall and her waiting companion.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note**: Wow guys, I'm sorry for the ridiculous delay. November came, and with November came NaNo. And with December came a visit from my boyfriend, who is actually still in town. And... yeah. So basically, I apologize for how long it's been without an update, and I want to thank anyone who is still reading this story. And I'll leave it at that! Enjoy, and reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Obviously, there was no possible way that Tom Riddle could have grown tired of his wait. He appeared to be done eating, if he had eaten at all – she still remembered the previous morning, and wasn't certain whether sitting at the Slytherin table staring off into space was a habit of his or a one-time occurrence – but he was still at what seemed to be his usual seat. She thought his behaviour was a bit odd – not even Harry or Ron would have waited that long for her to show up at breakfast.

Thinking about Harry was perhaps not the best idea for that early in the morning – she felt her eyes begin to moisten, something that didn't happen very often, and certainly not in front of people she was trying to impress. She stopped walking for just a moment and took in a couple of very deep breaths, counting backwards from twenty, until she knew that she was completely under control once again. Again, she felt the urge to just turn around and run away, back to Professor Dumbledore, hope that everything worked out for the best. She had never been the one aiming for adventure, for saving the world in a big dramatic way – she very much preferred saving it one creature at a time. This was a job for Harry, or Ron, or almost anybody else for that matter. It was too big, too important.

No, she couldn't allow herself to think that way. Harry or Ron, even if either of them were able to come and try it, would have failed. It hurt her to think of her friends that way, that they couldn't have done it, but it was true. They were too out-of-control – either one of them would have, by this point, started screaming at him about how evil he was and all how dare he kill so many people. She also prided herself by thinking that neither of them would have even gotten his attention, at least not with anything other than suspicion – and she felt that Tom would have reacted to his suspicion by watching, observing, making sure that their story fit without interfering. He wouldn't want to associate himself with anyone that he felt it plausible would come back and haunt him later. And while she didn't feel like she was making much progress by spending all of her free time with him, it was likely that being stalked by him in a much less interactive fashion would be even less helpful.

Besides, she thought, she really was just helping one creature at a time. This time, the creature just happened to be a bigger player in world events than most – and hopefully, she would be able to nullify his impact on the world. All she had to do was prove that people – not just purebloods, not just certain people, but people as a general group – weren't that bad, and were certainly not worth that much destruction over. His quest for immortality was a completely separate issue, and one that to a degree she could understand – he was probably just so used to knowing everything that having something completely mysterious forced on to him was an unbearable prospect. There wasn't anything she could do about that, at least not yet, and that was beside the more pressing issue.

She stood for a moment before taking her now-customary seat across from him, observing him. He didn't appear to have noticed her yet, though she didn't want to stand there staring at him for more than a few seconds in case he actually had. She wasn't sure of very much when it came to reading Tom Riddle; she wasn't even sure of whether she could read him or not. For all she knew, he could have spotted her the second her form emerged from the doorway, nevermind that he was facing the opposite direction.

She tried to analyze his body language. He was sitting almost straight, but slouched over a tiny bit. The angle was almost imperceptible – so much so, in fact, that she very easily could have been inventing it altogether; she felt certain, however, that this was not the case.

The reason for this slight slouch was beyond her capacity to fathom. As far as she knew, everything was fine with him – at least, as fine as life was likely to be for a teenager planning to rip his soul apart in an attempt to be indestructible. And then, he wouldn't likely tell her even if something had been wrong; for as much as he seemed determined to insert himself into every tiny facet of her life, he hadn't offered up very much of his own.

It was at this point that she halted her reverie and began to walk towards him. Instead, however, of taking her usual seat across from him, she decided to do something quite different; it was only when it was too late to change her mind unnoticeably that she realized how awkward sitting next to him could be.

She had always tried to not be too close to him. The first time it had happened, she had ended up almost entering into a duel of some sort with him – certainly a bad idea, if she had ever had one. And then there was last night, when actual physical contact had passed between them, and Hermione had practically fainted.

It was because he was dangerous, obviously. That was why she didn't feel comfortable sitting next to him. Her body was pumping her full of adrenaline in that age-old _fight or flight_ reaction, readying her for when he would inevitably pull his wand on her once again, and demand she tell him what her real reason was for being there.

That strange, sort of uncomfortable feeling in her stomach was simply a lingering symptom of last night's brief illness.

She blamed her rapidly rising temperature on the same.

Finally, she was at the table, pulling out the seat next to him. He looked up at her, evidently surprised to see her so near. Tom, then, had not been oblivious to the few feet of personal space they had generally been allowing each other. It was too late now, though. She couldn't very well just say, "Oh, sorry. I meant to sit over there," and jump over the table to her usual position, as tempting as it seemed.

Saving the world, it seemed, required pushing her personal boundaries by quite a lot. She hadn't considered herself particularly shy, but never would she have presumed to sit not a foot away from a boy she hadn't known but a week, and especially one to whom not even she was aware of her intentions.

The part about spending hours every day around someone whom she was fairly certain was a sociopath at best was also a slight divergence from her typical activities, but was somehow far less of a contrast. Maybe all that time around Ron had desensitized her to more or less any strange or absurd variety of the opposite gender. If nothing else, Tom certainly behaved more civilized than Ron ever managed.

She still shouldn't think about her friends. It was a bad habit to get into, as it made her significantly more prone to emotional outbursts. On the plus side, however, it did put a smile on her face, thinking of Ron shoveling his face full of food at every opportunity. It was especially funny in how starkly it contrasted her current companion; the mental image of Tom Riddle stuffing his face in such a gluttonous manner was laughable.

Luckily, the laughter held itself back. Smiling upon seeing him was an acceptable response, whereas laughing was not. He might have thought her mocking him, and she was fairly certain he would not take very kindly to that.

"Good morning, Tom," she said. She was trying very hard to act as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on, disregarding the fact that she was sitting maybe eight inches from his side. She didn't allow herself to realize the appeal of leaning into him. She was still so tired, she felt like she could just put her head on his shoulder and…

"Morning, Jane," he replied before she could finish the treacherous thought. She needed to get her thoughts under control, tired or not. She was sleepy, not drunk – she couldn't use that as an excuse if she did something she probably would regret.

She didn't know what else to say, and so concentrated on filling her plate with the most edible-looking things she saw. She felt awkward, eating in front of Tom when he was either already finished or on some extremely strict diet, but she would likely need her strength to get through the ordeal that would almost certainly be her Transfiguration essay.

After a minute or two, she realized the presence awkwardness between them. She saw no reason for there to be awkwardness, apart from her unusual and poorly thought out proximity, but it seemed unlike him to allow something so minor to get in the way of cordiality. Regardless of the reasoning, however, it occurred to her that one generally does not sit with somebody at a mealtime and remain in silence for the duration.

"How are you this morning?" she asked, trying to break the silence. She didn't mind the quiet, obviously – it gave her a chance to think, and aside from that it lowered the chances that she would say something unforgivably stupid. But her name should not bring about the connotation of awkwardness in Tom's mind, as that would likely not be the appropriate path for friendship or… whatever it was that she was aiming for in this situation. She had a difficult time thinking the word _seduction_ in the context of this particular sociopath, at least as long as she was trying to keep a straight face.

"I'm quite fine. How are you feeling?" She was grateful that he didn't directly mention the previous night, though she would have been more pleased had he declined to allude to it altogether. On the positive side, at least he was concerned for her.

"Very well, thank you."

Hermione found it difficult to eat whilst speaking with Tom; she was too afraid that he was going to ask her a question right as she was taking a bite. So she pushed her plate aside with a mental sigh. One of these days, she thought, I am going to enjoy a full meal.

Yeah, as soon as Charles started talking to her again.

She grimaced mentally – not outwardly, of course, as she did not want to appear to be the sort of girl who sat making funny faces at nothing in the middle of a conversation – at the thought of Charles. He could have really been a friend to her, in this place where she so direly needed a friend. She had no time for a friend, of course, and not really much use; a friend at this point would be a distraction. Thinking about it logically, she knew that Charles had been put to a much more productive purpose in securing a small hint of jealousy in Tom. No, jealousy was not the appropriate word. Jealousy would imply some sort of emotional connection with the object. Possessiveness made a much more accurate description; Hermione was certain that he saw her as property, a thing to be owned, far more than he did a person that he cared about.

Hermione needed to figure out how to cross the barrier between an object and a person. But with Tom, she wasn't sure how to do that, or if such a feat was even possible in the first place. She needed to get him to see her as being on the same level, the same degree of existing and being worthwhile… but she found it extremely hard to believe that she would be able to make any progress on that count.

Tom Riddle interrupted her thoughts by pushing his chair back and standing up, offering her his hand as an assistance.

"Shall we?" he asked. Hermione knew that today's real tests were about to begin.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: **First of all, many thanks to my lovely new beta **Daine**; I very much look forward to working with you on future chapters!

I know it's been quite a while since I've updated this; last semester sucked, basically, and I was busy as hell. I _hope_ to be able to update more frequently over the summer, and to not have to accidentally go into a semester-long hiatus come fall.

Reviews are always appreciated: tell me you loved the chapter or you hated it, but _pretty pretty please_ tell me why. Enjoy!

* * *

Hermione surprised him – she hoped – by grasping his hand firmly for assistance, instead of lightly relying upon it for balance. Maybe he would be thrown off by the unladylike gesture, not that he would ever admit it if he was; but perhaps taking a bit more control, albeit in a sideways sort of direction, would help him to see her, if not as an equal, then at least as a person.

Hermione was not used to having to _try_ to present herself as being human; it would be a challenge to say the least. She would more than likely have to resist the urge to try to appeal to Tom as best as she could, and instead settle for making her personality as strong as possible. Not obnoxious, hopefully, but more forceful than she'd previously been willing to act.

She was almost certain that by the end of her ordeal with Tom, he would think that she was completely out of her mind. Maybe he'd find that attractive, she thought, on some instinctual psychopathic level. Birds of a feather…

She found herself metaphorically shaken out of her reverie by their arrival in the Slytherin Common Room. As expected – and dreaded – the room was completely empty with the exception of Hermione and her companion. At least, she thought, she wouldn't have to worry about Tom getting into some ridiculous pissing match with anyone who looked her in the eye. The day would be trying enough without violence.

Hermione had sadly not found the time to acquire the book on purposeful transfiguration that Tom had recommended. She hoped that she would still be able to work on her essay successfully even without the additional information, and vowed to find and read that book at her earliest opportunity. For the time being, though, she couldn't afford the lapse in concentration that regret would create; she needed to be both completely focused on both the second – and hopefully final – draft of her essay, and on not messing things up with Tom while simultaneously proving to him that she was, in fact, just as much a person as he.

This would prove, she imagined, to be one of the most difficult essays she'd written to date. Oh well. She didn't expect to save the world without a sacrifice, and in comparison to the sacrifices given by other people she knew writing an essay wasn't even on the charts.

But then, very few people that she knew had ever tried to be civil to the Dark Lord. Who was to say which was harder?

Hermione went into her room to grab her first draft, a quill, and some additional parchment from the trunk by her bed; she took her time on the return trip, making sure to clear her mind. By the time she was had returned to the common room, Tom was already seated at a table with his parchment and quill out, ink bottle slightly to his side; Hermione took a seat at the table next to him, putting their shared ink bottle between the two of them. Hopefully, it would be a quiet affair.

She began by going through her first draft and marking things that she wasn't particularly fond of. Somehow, they were managing to get along. Perhaps they were both simply too focused on their work to spent much of their attention talking; almost no words were exchanged beyond an occasional 'excuse me' when they both went for the ink bottle at the same time.

When she was about halfway through rewriting the essay, though, the conversation began to pick up. Hermione wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing for her 'relationship' with Tom, but she was sure that she worked significantly better in silence than in conversation.

She looked over at Tom to see what had sparked the sudden increase in talking, and saw the answer to her question quite easily: he was completely done with his essay. She felt marginally foolish, still working on the assignment after he had finished; she knew, however, that she would feel significantly more foolish were she to stop when she was obviously not yet done, just to seem a faster worker than she was. Hermione decided that she needed to find some middle ground and fast, before Tom's conversation diminished the quality of her work.

She stood up then, stretching her arms behind her back. They had been at work for quite a while, and she was surprised to feel how stiff her shoulders were. "I need a break," she announced to Tom, herself, and the otherwise empty room in general. What she really needed, she thought, was a nap; but she had to get her sleeping schedule back onto something at least approaching normal, or she would miss all of her classes tomorrow out of sheer exhaustion. "Tell me, what would you suggest doing to relax for a bit?" She realized right away, of course, the alternative meaning that her words could imply; it was only with a fight that she restrained the nearly automatic blush that tried to rise to her cheeks. If he suggested something that involved more than one person, she would be glad for the opportunity to see him in an environment beyond that of merely schoolwork; if he suggested a more solo activity, she would be glad for the opportunity to be by herself for a small amount of time. A win/win situation, she thought.

Tom thought for a moment. It was a rarity, Hermione thought suddenly, for Tom to have to think for a noticeable amount of time before giving a response. Spending time not thinking about school – or his genocidal extracurriculars – must have been unusual for him. Hermione was suddenly struck by an idea, a way that perhaps she could stand out.

After all, she thought, how many girls were brave enough to try to drag Tom Riddle away from his work in the middle of the day?

"Let's go have lunch by the lake," she suggested. It was a statement, not a question, and she hoped that he would see it as such.

"Certainly," he replied after barely half a second's delay. "It is getting rather close to lunchtime."

Hermione smiled brightly; she was pleased with his agreeableness, and saw no reason to hide it. Besides, she thought, he would almost certainly become suspicious if she kept her emotions as hidden as she had been trying to.

"Excellent," she said. "I'm going to go change my clothes," she gestured to her inky sleeves, "and I'll be out in a few minutes. Wait for me?" That was a question, though she hoped that he would respond in the affirmative. She had no idea as to why he would refuse, which meant that it would probably be something Evil, with a capital E.

"Of course," he responded. She gave him another brief but genuine smile before turning around and heading back into her room. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be as difficult as she had anticipated. Maybe, just maybe, this would even be fun.


End file.
